


Disintegration of Memory

by Scila



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scila/pseuds/Scila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just can't keep away from it and when Arthur finds another job the lines get blurred and the difference between right from wrong could mean their lives. Revenge or justice. Guilt or innocence. Can they discover the truth before is too late? A/A</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living Still Life

She goes back to life. Or, more precisely, she wakes up and doesn't dream anymore. She wishes she could create different and more difficult mazes, distort reality and physics to her will. But now she has to be satisfied with blueprints and construction sites.

Her totem is inside a drawer in her bedroom, not touched in months. Not forgotten, just far away, but always lurking in the corner of her mind. In the first week after the Inception job, she couldn't let it go; the feel of it was the only thing that could make her feel safe.

And then she realized that she didn't need it anymore. Not because she wasn't going to dream any longer, but simply because she now knew for certain that Dom Cobb's trauma had not frightened her, nor had the limbo or the possibility of having life altering choices planted by strangers in one's mind. At first, that itself was strange. How could she not be anything but frightened? Was something wrong with her?

The truth was she never doubted her own capacity to recognize dreams from reality. For her, they're nothing but mazes (and in away, that's what they all really were); complicated but also exciting and fairly easy to solve with the right knowledge. They could trick you and make you doubt yourself, but knowing the rules was all that it took.

She knew them all now. Quick learner, they all called her. And in the end, she was the one to guide them. And that excited her beyond anything.

The accusation of arrogance was not far from her mind. But also she couldn't shake her confidence away. Maybe it had to do with her god-complex; they say every artist has one. And after bending the whole Paris to her will? A god-complex didn't seem like a farfetched possibility.

All around her was reality. Nothing else could be so continually predictable, incredibly tedious or insist in being as set in stone as reality was. Dreams change, life could too. But their rhythms were not the same and now she had to be patient and adapt.

Professor Miles didn't ask anything and said very little. He was the only person that could understand her, but he did not want to talk about it.

"I'm glad that you're back to reality safely, Ariadne. Take a seat," was all he said.

She bit back all the questions she had. Will Cobb do extraction anymore? Were you the one who taught him? How are his children? How did you two meet? How Cobb met Mal? Who invented dream sharing? How did he meet Arthur? Do you know his cell number?

Yes, the last one was childish, but also, the most important one. Because even if Cobb had retired for good, Eames was gone to find more challenges in the other side of the globe, Yusuf preferred not to go to the field and Saito was back to his multimillionaire company… She was certain that Arthur was still on the job somewhere right now.

Because that who he was. Nothing could compete with dreams for him. Nothing, like he said, was quite like it. She wanted to see him. She wanted to make him give her a new job. She wanted to be his partner.

And… That came out wrong.

Business partner. That was what she meant.

The last time she saw him, he was giving a nod to Cobb at the baggage retrieval. And then, he was gone. She found herself quite lost after this. She knew Cobb and the others could be gone quickly, but from Arthur she expected at least something, a goodbye and maybe a promise of coffee someday. Maybe an instruction or tip of how to live a normal after doing a four layer dream. That could have been nice.

After she woken up in the airplane and the two of them waited in a tense silence for Saito and Cobb to do the same, she felt that he was feeling exactly like she was. His jaw was set and her eyes could not move away from Cobb's closed eyelids. When finally he had woken, they briefly looked at each other with a relieved grin of a job done well. They're dazed and proud at the same time and when their eyes met she felt he was in sync with her in a way. Like they shared something, like another kiss.

Maybe she felt wrong. She didn't know. Maybe he didn't care much for her mazes, her talents, or her lips. Maybe he thought she was just an annoying architecture student, meddling too much in other people subconscious (most of the times literally) and affairs. She also had terrible organizational skills.

In any case, she didn't know how to contact him and make him explain to her what he really thought. Sadly she was an easily frustrated person, with a tryst for knowledge and maybe too much curiosity. So she kept her doubts to herself for a long time, but not near long enough.

One day, determined to quell her questions, she arrived in Mile's class two hours earlier, sitting in the seat right in front of his desk, drawing mazes on her notebook while waiting for him to appear.

"Ariadne? Goodness, what are you doing here so early? This maybe is the first time one of my students set on beating me to class. Actually, they usually think more proper to never show up. Are you quite all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Professor."

"No trouble sleeping, perhaps?"

"Why? Is it normal to have any after a job?"

He looked at her with worry, sitting in his comfortable chair behind the desk.

"Well, actually, it is quite normal."

"Then I'm lucky. I'm sleeping fine," she continued, absently drawing a circular maze.

"I thought they explained everything to you. Cobb seemed to suggest that, at least."

"Maybe something slip his mind, he had… other things to worry about, right?"

"That's no excuse. It was his responsibility. Extraction is a dangerous task, not to be done without proper preparation."

"Is over now, though, and I'm back safe and sound" she said, immediately jumping to defend Cobb. She owed him that at least after understanding what he had being fighting alone.

"Yes, for which I'm glad".

She bit her lower lip, sitting more upwards. The few seconds of silence were enough for the professor to think their talk was over. It wasn't. Time to dig deeper.

"Professor… Is Cobb doing okay? His family is alright now, right?"

He looked up from his papers, smiling slightly.

"Oh yes. I had never seen James and Phillipa happier. And Cobb… He seems lighter."

"I'm glad," she paused, trying to approach carefully; it wasn't easy to talk about Inception with him, "Do you think he… Is he going back to…? You know?"

"I hope not. It's hard to say. He never… Ariadne, he was exactly like you, when I met him: an artist with an insatiable need to create. What he wanted from dreams was to make art, a tool for never ending concepts. I don't think he seems them this away any longer."

She nodded already suspecting the answer.

"How about Arthur and the others?"

"Is this some ploy to find you another job?" he asked, half a smile on his face.  
"Is it working?"

"Absolutely not," now the smile was full on his lips.

"Come on. Just give me Arthur's cell number. As a favor, please?"

"This is not going to end well," he sighed, but she knew her plea had worked.

Hours later, when the class was finished he gave her a piece of paper with a number on it. She neglected the rest of her classes and went straight home.

Back at her apartment, she stared at paper, cell phone on the other hand. Her heartbeats accelerated as she dialed the number, waiting to hear his professional tone. Waiting for the thrill of dream sharing to start all over again.

Maybe she didn't want to go back to life after all.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

He waits for her to call. Or, more precisely, he hopes she'll call. He wishes he could make the decision for her, the decision to keep dreaming and stealing (and maybe dying in the process), except it wouldn't be fair. He remembers his first job and, while not half as complicated as the Fisher job, he still needed time to think after and to try being normal.

So he waits and hopes and tries not to think about it. Most of the time he manages by distracting himself with books, information gathering and by visiting Cobb and his children. He looks for a job that's risk safe (not too safe, though), looks at resumes for a new architect and extractor. Nobody catches his interest.

He wonders if his wish to work with Ariadne again was truly only professional (and knows the answer already). But not for long, because that line of thought never ended well. Part of the reason he didn't give her his number, didn't even give her a proper goodbye, was to end anything before it even began. If she was to call, if she did find herself a way to contact him, it was going to be because of the job. For professional reasons. It was how he preferred things (no, in this case, he really didn't).

And suddenly a job finally appears, almost literally falling on his lap. He's at Cobb's (and Mal's), enjoying coffee and thinking how surreal was to be back at that house. And then Cobb started talking about something big.

"I thought you're out," was the first thing on his mind.

"I am. But this guy, he called me two days ago, offering anything, everything, to me, he was practically begging. I had to listen."

He eyed Dom with doubt.

"Please tell is not inception again. Wasn't one time enough? "

His friend smiled, shaking his head, probably thinking Arthur was too cautious. Dom always had bigger dreams (sometimes literary) than him.  
"It's not Inception. It's something different, nothing like we ever did before."

"More details would be nice. Actually, even broad statements are appreciated."

"Specificity, uh?"

"I'm that kind of guy."

"I know," he paused, smiling. "I'm done with it, but I thought you would like this one. So this is for you to do with your own team. And make that the very best team."

And then he gave Arthur a briefcase, which he eyed with suspicion after feeling its weight. While Cobb played with James, he read all the books, notes and papers inside. When he finally finished it actually made his skin crawl. It wasn't inception, but it was probably worse.

"After what happened with Mal, do you really think this kind of thing is a good idea?"

Cobb's expression was grave; he sat down next to him, letting James go to play with his sister and sighed before speaking again.

"This is nothing like it."

"Really? For me it looks exactly it."

"You haven't heard the story from the client's mouth. This…" he pointed to a photo of the would-be subject, "This is justice."

Arthur wasn't going to be convinced that easily.

"What if it was you?"

"I was innocent."

"Are you?"

He knew he went too far, but for a long time he wanted to ask that question. Maybe it wasn't fair; maybe he wasn't a good friend for doing it. Still, the old suspicion returned months ago the moment Dom had told him about already doing inception once.

For his part, Dom didn't seem angry, just defeated. Regretting even bringing the subject, Arthur tried to make amends.

"What I'm trying to say is that nobody can be sure. Besides… The court decided he wasn't guilty."

"The court didn't have free access to his mind."

He shook his head, unsure. That wasn't the clean, easy job he wanted. It had too many complications, too much variables. Dom, of course, saw his hesitation.

"Look, take time to think about it. And if you are still interested after, give me a call, so I can arrange a meeting between you two."

Arthur nodded at least, thinking it was worth to consider carefully his options before ruling out completely the proposition. The money was beyond anything he ever received, even from Saito. And the challenge? Well, it was bigger than inception.

He walked back to his hotel that afternoon, gathering his thoughts, considering all the things that could (and probably would) go wrong. If he was honest with himself, the ethical problems of invading others' dreams, stealing their secrets and manipulating their minds never bothered him. It was job, the only job for him. If the market had need of this type of work, then the problem wasn't with him, but with his employers. Cynical, maybe, but it let him sleep at night. Most of the times.

But that new job was something else. The ethical implications were too overwhelming to reflect on, so he decided that he was looking at the thing the wrong way. He needed to look past the main problem and focus on the practical details, to think like it was a normal job and see if it was worth the trouble. A mental list formed quickly, if one thing was certain was that Arthur was very good with lists.

Who would he need for the job? A forger, the best one. (That would mean Eames, which was definitive not an incentive for the job). Also an architect with intelligence, mathematical precision and pure talent. (That would mean Ariadne, a plus). He would have to use Yusuf's sedative again or perhaps something even stronger. He would need a backup plan (two for safety) and an extractor with enough courage and no moral compass. He also would need weeks studying the target and the victim, which meant months of preparation and probably years in dreamtime. Also someone on the outside to watch their backs. Someone trustworthy.

It was doable. He could probably pull it off. The question was: should he?

Finally back at his hotel room, he poured down all the contents of the briefcase on the floor, organizing the documents by importance and relevance. Then he took his die from the pocket of his jacket, sat down on the bed and just kept feeling the totem's weight between his fingers, while reading everything once more. There was a huge chance the target was innocent, that much was truth.

But what if he wasn't?

Picking up with his other hand the main document on the man, Arthur tried to see anything that could point to the truth. Instead he just heard his cell phone, the one he gives the number only to few people, vibrating on the floor. The caller id was Ariadne's number.

He stood up, trying carefully not to step on the documents, and picked up the phone. For a brief second he hesitated, wondering what to say and more precisely what not to say.

"Arthur here," he answered, immediately hearing her chuckle at his greeting.

"Hey, it's Ariadne."

"So you found out my number then. Cobb or Miles?" he asked playfully.

"Miles."

"You actually managed to do that? I'm impressed."

"Actually, it didn't take much. I'm his favorite student, you know," she paused, probably thinking how to approach the subject he already suspects she wants to talk about, "So. How are things?"

"Calm. Really calm."

"Oh… No work?"

He could see she was trying not to sound too disappointed. It made him chuckle. It didn't take her long to decide, after all. He would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased.

"Actually, I'm glad you called. I may have something…"

"I'm in. I'm so in."

It was impossible not to laugh at that.

"Can you just wait to hear what it is first?"

"Oh fine, if you want," she laughed. "But I'm definitely in."

His smile disappeared. He looked down to all the papers in the floor.

"It's risky. Complicated."

"More than a third level dream?"

"Maybe."

There's a pause. He wondered if too many details would scare her away and if that was a good or bad thing.

"But it's not inception", she finally finished and when he didn't continued she came to the next logical conclusion, "And it's not extraction either."

"No. Not quite."

"Now I'm intrigued. What is it?"

"It's destruction."

She doesn't say anything else and he can't stand the silence.

"Still in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Inception story and the first time I'm writing a long story in English. If you guys find any mistakes, please tell me, and if anyone is interested in helping me out as a beta reader, I would be eternally grateful. Hope you all enjoy it!


	2. Living Still Life Part 2

She listened to his long explanation in silence. She wished she were physically there to actually watch his face while he tells her how he is considering destroying a man's mind. She wondered why it never crossed her own that something like that would be possible. Maybe she was innocent to think some lines wouldn't be crossed.

In that world, there were no lines.

When he stopped talking, her first question was simple only at first glance.

"Does he deserve it?"

The answer was not reassuring.

"Does it matter?"

She bit her lower lip, worried and not quite knowing what to say or what he wanted to hear.

"Yes… No. I don't know. Are you going to take it?"

Silence.

"Maybe. If I don't take it, someone will. This guy is desperate."

"And if you take it then there's a chance…"

"…To make the right choice. Yeah."

But what was the right choice?

"What we did to Fisher… Well, it wasn't exactly nice either. We manipulated a man to believe a lie but it was for a good cause. If he hadn't dismantled his father empire…"

"This is different."

"How? I mean, Arthur… If this man is responsible for murder…"

She could almost see him slowly nodding his head.

"But is revenge or justice?"

She sighed, putting her phone on the other ear.

"Does it matter?"

She could hear in his breathing that he was hesitant. That was the first time that he had shown not to be completely certain of something. It made her nervous.

"I really have great timing, don't I?" she said in attempt to lighten the mood. "Here I was, just trying to convince you to have coffee sometime with me and you're in the middle of something like this."

"Coffee? And how exactly that could work when you're back in Paris and I'm in California?"

"I didn't know that! Maybe you were here, who knows? You travel the world, like… Every two days. Do you own an airline too?"

He laughed a little, making her smile too. She still had some doubts about destroying someone's mind, but the appeal of doing another crazy journey was too great and hearing his laugh was enough to make a choice.

"I'm still in. That's if you decide to take the job."

"Do you think I should then?"

Thinking herself to be moral and law-abiding citizen used to be easy, when the lines of right and wrong were still clear. Now, she saw how selfish she could be. It was the challenge; it was the trill and freedom that ruled her decision in the end. And also a belief in a certain person.

"Yes," she paused, letting sink in the reality of her own answer. "It's like you said: if you don't, someone else will. I trust you, Arthur. You're going to make the right decision no matter what."

He doesn't speak for almost too long, making her afraid of having said too much, too soon. It was rather strange how she started believing in him so quickly. But putting her trust in a man she knew so little about was just one of the many bad habits she got during her "internship" with Dom Cobb.

"I suppose we're doing this then."

**.. a .. a .. a ..**

He didn't know why exactly he let her convince him. The skeptical part of him recognized that, in reality, Ariadne probably said that because she really wanted to be back in the game. But the fact that she knew precisely what to say to persuade him and the way she did it, with such sincerity, it gave him the last push towards what could probably be a very bad idea. Or perhaps deep inside he already wanted to do it.

She was waiting for him to call her. He told her he was going to speak personally to the client, arrange a few things and then finally tell her when and where to go meet him. He felt strange for a minute, before taking a deep breath and focusing on everything that was needed to be done. It was easier to forget lingering doubts when focusing on basic procedures in preparation for a job.

He called Cobb the morning after his talk with her. It was possibly his first decision in a long time that surprised his friend. He was immediately asking what had made him reconsider so quickly. Arthur changed the subject the best he could.

Confessing that a certain architecture student was the reason was too unprofessional, which would mean a whole new line of questioning from Cobb. One that Arthur wasn't ready to face.

A meeting with the client was set the next day in Chicago. On the flight to the city, Arthur tried to understand what kind of person would pay millions of dollars to destroy someone's mind. His dossier was short, with not enough data for his liking. But, then again, Cobb information gathering skills weren't his strong suit.

Jordan Adler was a CEO of a small bank and married to a rich heiress. There weren't any signs of illegal activities, criminal records nor even suspicious financial schemes connected to his company or family. He hadn't done anything noteworthy until recently, when the death of his only son became front news page for months. The crime had attracted attention thanks to its location: the victim was found on the parking lot of an underground club, famous for selling heavy drugs and celebrating the idea of dream life as the true reality. Always loving to shock the masses for more sales the media quickly focused on tales of group suicides, drug induced orgies and conspiracy theories, dragging the Adler family with it.

Even so, at first, despite the general population opinion, the police seemed to think it had been only a robbery turned murder, with Adler's son wallet being found empty in a trashcan a few blocks away. Still, Jordan hired his own team to find who he thought was the real culprit, a man named James Edwards, a recently fired employee. They found testimonies of five people confirming Edwards' presence in the club, talking to his son and then leaving the club a few minutes after him. That, added to the fact that Edwards had personally threatened Adler after being fired, was enough for the police to bring the man to trial.

But it hadn't being enough to find him guilty. Without the murder weapon and with Edwards convincing testimony, he was freed and declared innocent. And still Adler hadn't given up. If anything, it made him more determined. The death of his child was perhaps blinding him from the truth? Or maybe he knew something the police didn't.

While everyone on the plane slept, probably dreaming of mundane things, Arthur kept himself awake and alert, reading the papers again and again, looking for something that didn't fit or a clue of how to best approach the mark in a secure manner. Normally he would count on Cobb to form a plan, they could think things together and that made easier to spot mistakes or holes. Now he was alone and without the help of a good partner to watch his back. It made him even more cautious than normal.

The plane landed and Arthur went from a taxi to another hotel room, following his usual routine of lonely elevator rides and empty corridors in the middle of the night. He wondered for a moment if this was back at the second level dream of Fisher's job, but then chuckled to himself, remembering that he had done that kind of thing most of his life. One of his earlier memories was of a hotel room door with numbers in bright gold and the smell of chocolate mints bellow his pillow.

Nevertheless, he touched the loaded die inside his pocket, feeling its particular weight. Hotel rooms were his life, but one could never be too sure.

Once inside, he finally relaxed enough to sleep until morning. The sound of his cell phone woke him up four hours later.

"Does the concept of time-zones elude you, Eames?"

"And here I thought you would appreciate my quick response to your utterly rude text."

"It's called being to the point."

"Call me. Stop. Have a job. Stop. Now. Stop. A boy likes to be wooed too, you know. From time to time."

"Never thought you're the needy type. Next time I will add a smiley face, happy?"

"Only if it is winking at me. Maybe a XOXO, for effect."

Not even one minute into a conversation with the man and he was already rolling his eyes.

"So, what is this urgent job that requires my amazing talents?"

"Are up for another challenge?"

"Always. It's another rich boy with his father issues?"

"If only. No. We're destroying someone's mind."

"Oh. Dramatic. Never done that. You the one taking care of this one or Cobb is pulling the strings from home, hm?"

For a split of second he's surprised by the lack of outrage, but then realized that Eames' moral compass was probably broken beyond repair, if it ever existed in the first place. He wondered, then, if his own was cracking right now.

"He's really out, Eames."

"Well, I suppose being a family man has its appeals. What's the reward?"

"Sixty million."

"Boy, that's… A lot of chips. What's my cut?"

"Fifteen."

"That seems fair. Very well, Arthur. Send me the details and you have your forger."

"Glad to have you on board."

"Oh, you. You do know how to make a man feel appreciated. I'm all giddy."

"Eames… Turning off. Now.'

"Bye, darl…"

Closing his phone, he looked at the time. It was seven thirty; he had five hours to prepare to the meeting with Adler. Minutes later, Ariadne sent him a text.

"Good morning. Good luck".

He typed a simple "thanks", resisting the urge to add a smiley face not appear too "rude" (Bloody Eames), and went to his Chicago's safe house. He checked for passports, credit cards, cash, credentials, drivers' licenses, social security numbers, spare untraceable cell phones, guns and dream sharing equipment. Everything seemed to be in order. He doubled checked anyway.

Adler set the meeting on his own luxurious apartment where Arthur was received by two security guards in grey suits with guns hidden in their backs. So, the client was not feeling safe and didn't trust him as well. Not a good sign. They led him through a private elevator and then to a spacious hall, placing themselves at both the only exit and entry to the room. He was left to sit on a black leather sofa for thirty minutes. Terrible sign.

At last, a woman opened the main door, she was the picture of a high class socialite: stiletto heels, just enough makeup to hide the wrinkles next to her eyes but not enough to distract from her natural beauty, bag and jewelry especially made to match her high fashion dress and Chanel No.5. They always went for Chanel No. 5, for some reason. The only thing strange about her was a general aura of coldness, like she would pull a gun out her tiny handbag and kill him right there, with no regrets. He knew who she was, that was Sybil Adler, wife of his future client.

She walked towards him and Arthur immediately stood up to greet her.

"Mrs. Adler, thank you for receiving me."

"Yes, thank you for agreeing to see us. Will you follow me, Mr.…?"

"Arthur. Please, just call me Arthur."

By her raised eyebrows she thought he was flirting with her, perhaps used to young employees trying to flatter her for a promotion. Rumor was she was very hands-on with her husband company.

They went pass the two security guards and towards a long hallway. He noticed that various doorways had advanced security locks. A paranoid client. Great. Finally they arrived at a dining room illuminated by large windows with a beautiful view of the city. At the center, sitting next a long table were two men. One he identified as Jordan himself, the other one was a young man that Arthur saw in many pictures recently taken of the couple. His name was Guy Nouvelle, but he hadn't enough time to gather much else about the man. Already he was making mistakes.

"Good afternoon, Mr.…?"

"Don't bother, dear. Apparently we are not to be trusted with his last name", the wife interrupted her husband, giving him a caste kiss on the lips before sitting next to him.

Adler chuckled and Arthur realized the woman was smarter than he gave her credit for.

"It's Arthur Grayson, Mr. Adler. I'm terribly sorry for giving wife the wrong impression…"

It wasn't Grayson. But that could make Cobb laugh if he was there. Although he supposed that next time he had to introduce himself as Wayne, he wasn't a sidekick anymore.

"Don't let Sybil trouble you, Mr. Grayson. She likes to make people uncomfortable. Please sit."

He did, on the opposite side of the table, in a position that made him able observe all three of the participants. It seems he was going to work for all of them, and so, it was best to learn more about each one. Noticing that he was looking at the youngest person present, Adler introduced the boy.

"This is Guy Nouvelle. Guy was a close friend of Carl's."

"I will be Mr. and Mrs. Adler eyes on the mission," he quickly added with heavy French accent, trying to sound professional and failing, "I'm going with you."

"I have to be clear with you: I don't take civilians on missions, Mr. Adler. It's not safe and could compromise our objective."

"This one you're taking." Sybil said her tone final. "He already trained for this."

He was ready to argue once more, but Adler intervened.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves, dear. I'm sure he has questions before accepting our proposition."

"Yes. I do," he took out one of the papers from his briefcase, sliding it towards the trio. It was the dossier on the subject. "Why not a robbery? And why Edwards?"

"He threatened my husband, did you not read the information we gave your partner?"

It seemed the wife didn't like him already.

"I did. But I need more information. Your personal experiences' with him, his personality and why would he have done it. Also the reasons for not agreeing with the robbery theory." When the wife started to open her mouth, Arthur couldn't resist and continued, "…Besides the obvious. In short, Mr. Adler, I need to be certain Edwards is to blame."

"Didn't think an extractor would care about something like that. Aren't you all mercenaries working for the highest pay?" Guy said, clearly expecting to find Eames sitting there or maybe James Bond. Arthur really hoped he hadn't to bring the kid with him, he was too green.

"Guy. Please." was Adler response. At least someone was reasonable. "We know it wasn't a robbery, Mr. Grayson, for a simple reason. My son always carried a picture of his family with him, a very specific photo of a vacation with us when he was nine years old."

He sighted and took his wife hand before continuing; her expression was soft for the first time.

"I have the same one in my office. When Edwards decided to invade it to babble about being fired unjustly, he was very intrigued by it. He took in his hand, commented about how beautiful my family was and his tone was very bitter. The underlined treat against my family was clear."

"I gather the picture was missing from the wallet?"

"Yes."

"The police report says it was completely empty, a thief probably would also trash all of the contents. While it's suspicious, it's also circumstantial."

Sybil scoffed, clearly not tolerant of that line of questioning.

"They found his documents and other photos in the trash, but not that one."

"Still circumstantial. What about Edwards… He was fired two months before the murder, why wait that much time to act?"

"To plan it," she answered.

"He threatened your husband the very next day of being fired, in plain sight, with his secretary witnessing everything. Doesn't seem to be a carefully planned action."

"He's crazy, obvious."

Why she was so desperate to condemn the man, Arthur couldn't figure it out yet, but for now it was just annoying him.

"First he waits to plan, then his crazy? This is not helping your case, Mrs. Adler."

Now would be the time that Cobb entered the conversation, trying to be diplomatic and calm. But Cobb wasn't there to stop Arthur from antagonizing idiotic people.

"I didn't realize I had to present you a case," she snarled, clearly also losing her patience. "You're supposed to follow our orders and do the job without questioning us. If you don't want sixty million dollars, then stop wasting our time."

Next, she stood up abruptly and left the room, the sound of her high heels echoing through the room. Adler followed her with his eyes, before sighing in defeat.

"You must understand… This is still all very close to us. We are fighting to be believed for a long time now. She's just can't stand anymore, the questions, the doubts."

He nodded, regretting just a little for being so openly against their theory. He was so used to be the one responsible to find problems and mistakes in everything that it was easy to forget the feelings of others when the holes in their opinions were pointed out. Not something to be proud of, especially when it was directed at potential clients.

"I am sorry for this. But you have to understand what you are asking me to do. I need to be sure."

"Others won't", Guy argued, turning to Adler. "We can find someone else to do it."

"Probably. But I'm feeling that Mr. Adler doesn't want the burden of destroying someone's life without being sure," he hoped his supposition was true. "I am the best of the market. I'll deliver. You know this, you know my reputation. Other will not question you, but they will fail."

Adler nodded, making his protégée sitting next to him angry.

"This is all very true. But I'm afraid we are in an impasse. A court didn't think the man was guilty. I don't believe that I can present something that will give you complete certainty. I don't have proof enough. If I had, he would be in jail right now."

Arthur couldn't argue against that. He already knew that was going to be the case ever since he talked to Ariadne.

"Yes, I realize that. So I have a proposition: I will look for proof inside his mind. If I find anything that could be used in a court of law, then you'll use it. He will go to jail, and that will be justice. If I can prove his innocence to you, then he's free to go and you will not hunt this man anymore."

"What if you find him guilty but not the proof required?"

"Then I will destroy his mind."

Adler considered for a while the possibility and Arthur hoped he made a convincing argument. Guy was just watching him with clearly distaste.

"I think that's reasonable. I can agree with these terms."

As he said that he got up, walked towards Arthur and offered his hand, which he took with somewhat surprise. He was expecting a long discussion about it. Guy left the room, in an angry fit, not improving Arthur's opinion of the kid.

Alone with Adler, Arthur had the chance to ask his last burning question. Now that he met the man, it made even more confused.

"Why destroy his mind…? Why not kill him?"

Adler looked at the door, were both the others participants of the meeting had exited.

"He was her only child. He was her everything. She can't sleep without dreaming of him. She can't remember without seeing him. She's only a shadow now. He destroyed us, Mr. Grayson. And I want to destroy him in return. Death didn't seem enough."

When he left the building, the first thing he did was call Ariadne.

**.. a .. a .. a ..**

Two days later and she's flying to Mombasa, with nothing but a small bag and a toothbrush. Her totem was back at her hands and during all flight she doesn't let it go. She felt somewhat crazy for leaving behind her studies once again; she wondered how long will take her father to notice his daughter suddenly disinterest in her dream college. Or how long text messages were able to maintain friendships.

But most of all she felt content, like she was doing the right thing with her life.

When the plane landed, Arthur was there, waiting for her. With an unusual grin on his face, he took her bag and asked how she was. She just stared for a moment, before realizing how stupid she must look and answering that she was fine.

"Are you having any trouble sleeping?" he asked gently, noting her totem still in her right hand and her apparent lack of focus.

"No… Not really."

"If you are, I can help you relax."

Did she heard right?

"I could teach you some techniques, like breathing exercises. Yoga helps as well."

Oh.

"Oh. No thanks. I'm really fine. Very relaxed. This," she lifted her totem, "This is just habit, you know."

"Yeah. I know", he smiled, taking his own out from the pocket of his coat.

"So, we're recruiting Yusuf again?"

"Yes. We'll need his sedative."

"But you said it was a two level dream. I thought that didn't need one so strong."

She saw how he hesitated, his eyes turning away from her. She wasn't going to like his answer.

"I need to go to limbo."

"What? On purpose?"

She had stopped walking now. He had to turn back to face her.

"Yes. Dreams are only a window to the mind. I have to access deeper into his subconscious and destroy what makes him function in reality. His own sense of self."

"How about your own? Cobb got lost in there. Saito too. You could end up dead."

"They came back. If Cobb can do it, I can too."

She rolled her eyes.

"This isn't some kind of competition."

"It isn't. Just facts," he grinned at her.

"But you are the point man… Not the deep subconscious exploring man!"

She was mad at him, but that didn't stop him from laughing. When she kept her furious expression, he walked towards her, putting both hands at her shoulders, now serious.

"I can do this, Ariadne. With practice."

"Practice? You're going there more than once? Arthur!"

"You trusted Cobb to come back. Can't you trust me?"

"This isn't about trust. It's about you being… Reckless. Besides he had experience there."

"You went there and came back without any trouble. And it was your first time."

"Maybe I should be the one to do it then."

"No."

"Why not? Can't you trust me?" she argued, her arms crossed.

He was beyond serious now; the intensity in his eyes surprised her. She could see that wasn't even a possibility in his mind.

"I can't risk you."

"Well, I can't risk you."

Was she saying what she thought she was? Was he?

"It's not the same. I'm the one with experience, and I know I can to this safely. This not a decision I made lightly."

"I know."

"This is what I do. I think and plan and prepare. And sometimes I improvise. But I never plan something I'm not sure I can pull off."

"I know."

"Then, let's stop talking about it."

"I will. After you promise me something."

"What?"

"I'm going in with you…"

"Didn't I just said…"

"…when you practice. I want to go with you. This is not a negotiation. I helped Cobb, I can help you too if…"

"I don't have any dead wives running around my subconscious."

"Good to know. But I'm still going."

She would be just as stubborn as he was. If he wanted to do that crazy plan of his, he had to accept her help, and that was final. After a few moments, he sighed and she knew he could see that it was impossible to argue anymore. The decision was made.

"Ok."

"Good."

They were doing this together. She wouldn't let him go alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks! :) Ps. Guy was for so long just the "new guy, new guy does that, new guy does this..." that when the time came for give him a name, well, I had to make a joke about it. Nouvelle is french for news (Nouveau seemed a little too obvious lol).


	3. Leda Atomica

"What is a dream?"

Arthur's question hanged in the air, while the four of them waited. Eames was sitting next to her, both hands resting on his stomach, an arrogant smile on his face. Yusuf was clearly curious to what theories Arthur had come up with it. The new guy, Guy Nouvelle, he was just bored. Ariadne didn't like him already.

"Well, love, that depends… Are you talking about wet dreams or…"

Ariadne smiled while rolling her eyes. Arthur simply ignored Eames, walking towards the whiteboard with a drawing of a brain.

"A dream it's one of the ways the brain has to process experiences, feelings and emotions, so it can be stored for later use, transforming it into long-term memory. What can we access through dreams? Memory," he pointed to the hippocampus and temporal lobe. "And the subconscious. Aside from genes, memories create who we are and what we define as reality."

"To destroy a mind through dreams we have to do both extraction and inception. We have to extract the most important memory of the person. The defining moment that made that person who he is, and then, incept deep into the subconscious the idea that it didn't exist at all. This will trigger a domino effect, making question his other memories, in essence, destroying them. And as long as he lives he will keep questioning who he is."

The silence was chilling.

"But first we have to find out if he deserves it."

Arthur turned over the board, revealing a wall of pictures, files and newspapers, all of them about one person: James Edwards.

"This is the mark. His name is James Edwards. He's thirty five. Only son of Elizabeth Edwards, father unknown. Lived most of his life alone in a three room apartment on East Garfield Park. Was hired by HR of Adler's Southwest Trust bank, and worked there in the I.T department for ten years. Never showed any ambition or charisma, staying mostly out of sight and rarely socializing with anyone. Known to be a loner, but also admired by the department director for his talent and efficiency."

"So, he's bit of a nerd, like you, Arthur. That will make things easier", Eames declared.

Again, Arthur ignored the other man, but Ariadne could see his shoulders tensing. One more smartass comment and he was going to lose his patience. It used to be a relative harmless banter between the two of them, but now Arthur was the leader and it was clear that it changed things, at least for him. Ever since they arrived at the new warehouse, an old industrial building turned to a loft, near Navy Pier and Lake Michigan, he was more tense and quiet, if that was even possible.

It was their second day in Chicago and the first of preparing for the job. The expectation of what exactly Arthur was going to do was high among everyone. Cobb's presence in her first job and, most of all, his determination was what kept the team together. She hoped Arthur would stop worrying about the pressure the next few days. He already worried too much about everything else.

"The fact that he's a loner will make things easier, yes," was finally Arthur's answer. "I already put someone I trust to find out his schedule and a way into his apartment. The plan is to hook him up into the machine during the night so nobody is going to come and interrupt us. We leave in the morning, like nothing happened."

"Well, something had to be easy in this job," Yusuf commented with half a smile.

It was enough to make Arthur chuckle a little and make her less tense.

"So, let me get this… We have to find actual proof of his innocence or criminal evidence of his guilt," Eames started, counting his fingers.

"That's level one."

"If we find something that proves he did it but can't be used in waking life, then we search his dreams for a defining memory, of a person, a place or object, strong enough to shake his very identity… I am right to think this will be my job, as you have absolutely no concept of human emotions, being a robot and all that?"

Arthur stared at him, but the grinning man just kept going.

"That's level two, I suppose. And then, what?"

"Then I go with him to Limbo."

"…Where you are going to destroy the memory by recreating it and making so he stops believing in it."

"Yes."

"Well, what could possibly go wrong with such a simple plan?" he remarked clearly enjoying the challenge.

"What if we can't be sure of his innocence or guilt after the first level?" Ariadne asked.

"We will. We have a week in there."

"But if we don't…" she insisted, worried about the possibility of doubt. They had to be sure, or else, everything would collapse.

"If we don't, I have a backup plan."

"Of course he does. You worry too much, darling," Eames said to her, rising from his chair. "Anyone else hungry?"

The discussion turned to which take out could please everyone. Chinese was the winner and everyone dispersed, leaving Arthur staring intently at the board with Edwards' info. Eames gave her a wink before going to his office.

"See if you can make our fearless leader relax. Before he has a stroke," he whispered to her, indicating Arthur.

She nodded, but wasn't exactly sure how she was supposed to do that. Slowly she walked towards him, hands almost inside the pockets of her jeans, unsure how to approach him.

"Hey… Not hungry?"

"Not really."

She looked at the direction his eyes were focusing, on the picture of Edwards. He was a very plain looking guy, nothing remarkable about his looks, just brownish hair, dull eyes with dark circles under it and a blank expression. Sure, nobody looked good in their driver's license picture, but Edwards hadn't even made an effort.

"It won't talk back."

He then turned to her, confused.

"The picture. Staring at it won't get you any answers."

He smiled a little, which she returned it with her own.

"You're right. Eating will probably be a better use of my time."

"We could…"

"Can I ask you a favor?" he was looking at the board again.

"Sure," she answered, a little disappointed. "What do you need?"

"Can you talk to Nouvelle? We need to get to know him better if he's going to the mission."

She almost groaned.

"Seems he doesn't want to talk to anybody."

"Well, I think he will talk to you."

"Why?"

"Everybody talks to you. You make people… talk."

She snorted; the way he said made it sound like it was some kind of almost supernatural ability. A super power even. Ariadne: the girl who made people talk. Or more likely Ariadne: the girl who annoyed people into talking.

"I'll give it a try."

"Thank you."

And then the conversation was over. He was back at the staring contest against the board. She hesitated before leaving, trying to find a way back in, just to reassure him that he could count on her. But she didn't know how to approach him now that he had closed himself like that.

"Some super power. I can't make you talk, apparently."

With regret she left him alone and went looking for the new guy. Nouvelle was outside, sitting alone on the terrace, feet on the parapet and his seat almost falling backwards while he pushed it back and forth. The view of Lake Michigan was beautiful and the architect in her was fascinated by buildings on the pier, while the child admired the Ferris Wheel in the distance. She walked towards him, leaning on the ledge for support and then faced him.

He couldn't be more than nineteen years old; he just simply overflowed with teen angst and the usual hint of James Dean's rebel attitude.

"So, they sent you to baby sit the tourist."

"For what I heard, you aren't one."

Appealing for the ego always worked and he quickly smirked.

"Yeah? What did you heard?"

"That you trained for this. That you and Adler's son spent years dreaming."

"We did," the smirk was gone, now replaced by a pained expression. "We did. We went to Hypnagogia almost every day after school. Seemed the only way to… Live, you know? Really live."

She could see the appeal of it. Two rich kids bored out their minds with lots of cash to spend, where else could they waste their money if not in dream sharing? It was the ultimate escape.

"You are looking at me like I'm some sort of drug addict".

"Not really. I get it. Why do you think I'm here?"

"The money?" he said indicating her cheap clothes and her general appearance, compared to his designer jeans and expensive jacket.

She raised an eyebrow and didn't even respond.

"Ok. Not the money then."

"Hypnagogia is that dream club, right?"

"Yeah, the one that's corrupting today's youth."

"I thought that was rock and roll and Britney Spears."

He chuckled, sitting up and finally putting his feet on the ground.

"Anyway… The club is more than having fun inside dreams. It's about the true reality. Ways to experience life without any of the bullshit. Just people feeling, creating. Enjoying it. Really living."

"That explains your distaste for our line of work, uh?"

He snorted, raising his arms behind his head.

"You're just thieves. No offense."

"I like to call us thrill seekers."

"Want a thrill? How about failing of the Eiffel Tower while it goes down around you then diving into the Nile? Or maybe having sex on the floor of the Oval Room in the White House…"

"Having sex at the… Really?" she laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"With the American president watching."

She kept laughing.

"You should come with me sometime. It'll be fun. I miss it… Since Carl… Well, didn't seem right."

"Maybe after all this is over."

"Yeah."

It didn't sound like he thought it would ever be over.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

From the corner of his eyes Arthur kept watching them more times than he could care to admit. It was he that asked her to get to know the kid and so it just curiosity in how she was doing it. It had nothing to do with slightly feelings of insecurity or jealousy. Not one bit.

Was she laughing?

"… Seems like they're getting along pretty well," Eames noted, coming back from his office with his Chinese takeout box in one hand, chopsticks on the other. Arthur was suddenly hungry, which was probably Eames intention on bringing the food with him in the first place.

"Looks like it," was his only comment, he knew when the man was trying to bait him for an embarrassing confession.

"How old is she again?"

"Twenty three. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing. She just looks so young. Like the boy."

He hated Eames. He really did.

"Did you figure what you need for the first level?" he changed the subject quickly, trying to avoid sudden bursts of violence.

"Yes, yes. I need videos. And not family ones' with his mommy. Real ones. I need to study him with something else than pictures and pretty speeches on how he really was a nice boy who ate his vegetables."

"Okay, I can arrange that."

"Maybe I should ask Ariadne to take care of it, instead. This Nouvelle guy, he probably has what I need."

"No. That's my job."

"Just a suggestion. No need to get all defensive."

Silence, glorious silence. He turned back to his board of personal torture. Listing all the important details of the day of the murder. He needed to find the…

"So, remind me… How old are you, love? Thirty?"

He turned to Eames, who was standing still, very relaxed, chopsticks on his mouth and an expression of complete innocence.

"Just stop it."

"What?" he put the chopsticks back inside the now empty box.

"This. Trying to… "

"Trying to what? To make you move your arse?"

"My ass is fine where it is."

"It is a fine ass. But that's not what I'm talking about, darling."

"Look, I… This is a big job."

"Yes, it is."

"I need to focus."

"You certainly do."

"You need to focus. And stop trying to piss me off."

"Just talk to her, Arthur."

"I talk to her…" he was starting to get really defensive, which wasn't a good sign.

"No, you... say words. You want the girl, you work for it. That's how it everyone else does. So work for it."

He said nothing. It was all very confusing and he didn't have the time to think about it now. Eames just shook his head, disappointed. Maybe it was easy for him to just let himself go, flirt and be in love, but Arthur didn't want to ruin things, didn't want to get involved too deep. He liked her, he really did. She was funny, smart, creative and talented. Beautiful. But things would go very wrong, very quickly. She wouldn't be just another girl. If he allowed himself he was going to fall in love. Something he didn't want right now.

His work was everything.

So yeah, he kissed her, just a peck while they're dreaming to see how it would feel like. He flirted a little. But nothing would come of it.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

She left Guy eating his noodles and went to work. On the way, she exchanged a brief look with Eames and passed by Arthur, still trying to solve some kind of invisible puzzle that he wasn't sharing with anyone else. He didn't even acknowledge her.

A little put off by his cold behavior, she just couldn't concentrate on her first assignment. She needed to recreate Edwards' bedroom with exact precision, from the way the sun and moon illuminated his bed to the various materials of the carpet and clothes in his closet. It was too much. Her annoyance made her incapable of thinking about anything else.

Tired of making lists and comparing fabrics, she decided to take a break, while trashing another blueprint she did of the apartment.

"Not going too well?" Yusuf voice called her from the office door. His own was next to hers, and he probably heard her cries of frustration.

"That's the fifth one I trash," she explained, with a sigh.

"Coffee?"

"God, yes please."

They went to his office, where the sole coffee machine was. She sat on a near by chair, with a cup in hands, while Yusuf made himself another one. She looked at his desk, curious on what his assignment was. There were papers scattered all over, with chemical's formulas written. It all looked like gibberish to her.

"Arthur has me working on a new sedative," the man explained, seeing her curious look.

"Yeah? For what?"

"Limbo."

Now she was very interested.

"So… What will it do? Make easier to wake up?"

"That's the idea."

"How?"

"A clock."

"What?"

"Have you ever heard of the Cocktail Party Effect?"

"Like… How you can hear someone calling you from afar even when there is a room full of people talking?"

"Yes, exactly. What I'm trying to do is a sedative that can replicate this in his ear a thousand times to a specific sound. The constant sound of a clock."

"So he can keep track of reality's time and remember it's a dream," she finished, impressed by the concept.

"Exactly."

"Won't that give him a hell of a headache?"

Yusuf laughed.

"That's what I'm working on, to find the exact amount of intensity so he can bear up with it."

"That's kind of a brilliant idea…"

"If I can make it work, yes, it is. The concept, of course, was Arthur's. I'm actually impressed by it. It has been a welcome challenge."

"Does it only work on him?"

That made the chemist pause.

"No, in theory no. But everyone has a different hearing capacity; it can vary according to the damaged suffered over the years. So, as I will test it only on him, the adjustments of the sedative may be too much or too little to someone else."

She nodded, storing that information for future use. If she wanted to go with him in Limbo, it was important to know details like that.

She thanked Yusuf for the coffee and was back at her own office minutes later, not feeling much better. The rest of the day was spent on studying Edward's building, with the blueprints Arthur copied from the city archive. She needed to transform it into a convincing maze.

By six, she wouldn't stare at them any longer. She went back to main hall, which Arthur had made into his makeshift office. Next to the board he had three desks full of papers, maps, drawings and folders. It was also the room where the PASV and the five chaise lounges were.

Everyone else had left for the day, but of course, not Arthur. He was laying on one of the chairs, his sleeves rolled up, eyes closed and apparently asleep, but not hooked up into the machine. She noticed that even while sleeping he was frowning. Sad that not even while resting he could relax.

She resisted the urge to sit next to him and just watch. Instead, she walked towards one of the desks, looking at all the information he collected in just a few days. She barely could find an old friend in Facebook, much less manage to put together so much data. He was really something. She noticed various resumes of Extractors, most of them with their photo crossed out in red. She knew he was looking for someone to replace Cobb, apparently without any luck.

"Still here?" he suddenly questioned her, eyes still closed.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"Not really", he assured her, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Trying to think, I guess."

"Did you eat something?"

As soon she said, she felt like a nagging mother. And the embarrassment increased when he smiled at her like she was a little kid.

"No, actually, I didn't want any distractions."

"Food is hardly a distraction, Arthur," she argued, rolling her eyes.

"Depends on the food."

He seemed to be in better mood than earlier, giving her more confidence. It was easier to talk to him when there was just the two of them and he was smiling like that at her.

"Well, do you think you could get distracted now?"

"Do you have something in mind?"

"Yes, something crazy, like, actually going out to eat!"

"A dangerous idea."

"We live dangerous lives."

"We do," he laughed. "Okay, I guess you can distract me."

"Then let's go."

"Do mind if we make a detour after?"

"What, more work?"

"I need your help with something, yes."

"Did you ever watch The Shinning?"

He laughed, grabbing a suitcase, picking his jacket from the table and putting on. Together they locked up the loft and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the reviews! I'm overwhelmed by the positive response! A lot of people put this story on their alerts/fav lists, making me very happy! It would make me even happier if you guys took a minute or so to leave feedback, I appreciate all the alerts and favs, but a comment would give me more confidence as to where the plot is going and the characterization. Anyway, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH to everyone, especially the people who left me reviews! :)


	4. First Days of Spring

"So… What are we doing here?"

"You don't know?" Arthur replied a hint of a devious smile. "Corporate espionage."

She also smiled, not really worried about breaking the law. They were in front of the office building of Adler's bank, it was sometime after eight and most of the windows of the tall construction were still lit. They entered the place like it was the most natural thing to do, Arthur with one hand in his pocket and a false ID on his neck, while she stayed next to him. He greeted the security guard like they're old buddies and, without anyone caring, they went to the elevators.

Inside one, she suddenly looked at him and remembered.

"Oh. This is…"

"Yes."

"How did we…"

"Coffee. You put the sedative in his drink, we followed him…"

"And we waited till he fell asleep in his car to…"

"Yeah."

"So this is my…"

"First lesson, yes."

"Great."

"This is going to be easy. Just relax."

"I'm relaxed."

"I see. So that's why you're so tense."

"Exactly. This just how I roll."

He laughed while pushing the button for the 13th floor.

She remembered now how she had asked him for lessons in extraction. They were talking about it during dinner (a nice Italian place with only a few costumers). Arthur still hadn't found an Extractor he could trust to help them and time was running short. She suggested he should train her and be done with it. After all she was a quick leaner and he could trust her. With anything.

Of course, he said no at first. It was too dangerous, too hard and required years of instruction. Fighting skills, forger skills, robbery skills, gun skills… And so on and so forth. She ignored all that, arguing that she could make a great extractor if he taught her how. She had the talent and would he just let her try and stop being so stubborn for God's sake?

He finally cracked, during dessert, accepting defeat.

And now there they were: invading a Southwest Bank employee's dream. After dinner, they went to a Starbuck´s next to the bank and waited for the target to appear, like he always did according to Arthur's sources. Then she accidentally bumped into his table and, while apologizing, poured a dose of the sedative into his cup. They followed him to his car, parked near there and then waited five minutes or so until he fell asleep. Finally Arthur opened the car door with a quick antenna trick (she was impressed by his petty thief skills) so they could enter with the equipment and just like that she was dreaming.

The goal was to find financial records of Edwards, Adler, his wife and Carl. Arthur could have just asked for it in waking life, but he explained that he didn't completely trust their employer. He wanted access to all of the information, not just convenient censored data.

Arthur was the dreamer, knowing ahead of time the layout of the building, and the target was the head of the Financial Department. He was currently working like it was a normal late Thursday, in the 13th floor. Her job was to grab the files, read it and memorize most of it, without him or his projections noticing, while Arthur distracted the guy. Seemed easy enough, but she was still nervous, yet also excited.

The elevator doors opened. Arthur was now dressed like a janitor, which was hilarious and distracting. He looked like a bad actor. His distaste at the clothes was clear; she just mouthed: "deal it". It was her plan. Or more exactly it was the plan she thought of just now inside the elevator, as she hadn't time to of think anything in advance. It was also part of the lesson to improvise. An extractor needed to be versatile and creative, capable of dealing with suddenly things going wrong or plans failing very quickly.

A new janitor wouldn't be something strange to the guy, as an office that size had dozens of them, and it gave Arthur plenty of excuses to talk with him. So, janitor clothes it was.

He left her behind, pushing a cleaning cart between cubicles towards the man's office. She waited for them to get out of it, sitting in a station somewhat near it. The good news was that the floor was empty. Apparently the subconscious of the workaholic didn't think that it was normal to have other people working this late. But it also could make her own presence there strange, attracting attention.

At last Arthur and the man walked out of the place, talking about a problem in the kitchen. Quickly she ran to the office, closing the door behind her. Her first instinct was to look for the files in a cabinet, but then realized it probably was in his computer.

Luckily the man had left it turned on, so there wasn't a need for a password. She searched for what it felt like a few minutes, browsing through folders fast. Finally she found Edwards' financials. Nothing seemed strange; he received a large sum of money for being fired, but had nothing else out of the ordinary. After that she found Carl's bank account, it was closed. Every penny he had (probably fruit of allowances) was transferred to his father account since his death.

Next was Adler's file and apart from whole lot of zeros in his figures, he appeared to be clean.

Before she could look for Adler wife's data, the door busted open with a scandalously clad woman appearing, caring a bottle of champagne and two glasses in her hands. She was just barely dressed in tight black lingerie and extremely high red heels. Ariadne heart jumped with surprise and she didn't have any time to think of an excuse for being there.

"What the hell you doing here?" the woman asked. "Bertie knows I don't like to share."

So it was that type of dream. That explained why he was the only guy in the whole floor. Gross.

"I was…"

"What? Trying to steal my manly man, hot Bertie Bubbles? Well, forget it girlfriend! He's mine."

Who talked like that? Seemed Bertie really didn't understand women all that much.

"I just made a wrong turn. I'm leaving now…"

The woman looked at her with even more distrust. It seemed that not wanting to fight for her "man" was more suspicious to "Bertie" subconscious than a girl in his office by mistake. What a narcissist ass.

"Look, I confess. I tried, but he didn't want me. Not really. He only wants you. So, I'm leaving in defeat."

"Yes, that's right. I'm the only one he needs."

"Yeah, and really he's a real charmer. You're so lucky."

"I am, right? He's like all the good parts of Tom Cruise with the naughty parts of Rick Martin. Without all the gay parts, 'course. "

"Sure."

"I think I love him. I want to have his babies."

"Okay. Nice."

"After we have hot office sex on his desk. While naked."

"That's a little too much detail…"

"How about a threesome?"

Where the hell was Arthur?

"Not really my thing… But thanks for offering."

"You don't want a threesome? Why, do you think I'm insecure and gonna be jealous of you? Because, really, like, we women are so competitive. Like, even in life… In general."

"Yeah, okay."

She should had dreamed of a gun, she really wanted shoot herself now.

"Okay? Like, okay we will have a threesome in this office right now, or like, you think I'm a jealous bitch?"

"I… Don't know?"

Now the woman was angry. She walked right to Ariadne's face, staring infuriately at her.

"Who are you anyways? Have we met?"

Ariadne heard the sound of the elevator opening its doors. Someone else was coming. Projections, probably. He was beginning to suspect it. Maybe Arthur had done something.

"I'm Mary, from HR."

But the woman was not looking at her anymore. She went out of the office without a single world, like all her stupid fake personality disappeared and instead she was a huntress looking for something amiss. By the office window, Ariadne saw security guards coming closer. They were looking for her or maybe Arthur. Should she risk going out for him?

They're coming there next; she didn't have time to think carefully. Grabbing Bertie's laptop, she exited the office, avoiding detection by ducking behind the cubicles. She walked towards the fire escape stairs. She needed a little more time to read about the wife and, most of all, to wait for Arthur. If he had died she would already know as the dream would have collapsed. So, he was still out there.

Trying to concentrate, she, at last, read the wife's report. It was a little stranger than the others; it had a large sum transferred to the same account every month for two years, the name of the owner was blacked out, so not even the subject of the dream knew it. It appeared Mrs. Adler was having an affair. Why else hide it from her husband employee's?

She closed the laptop, taking with her. Now she had to find Arthur to let him know they could leave. As she opened the door of the fire exit, she found the floor full of security. She counted at least ten guards, all with guns. The lingerie woman had disappeared. For a second she considered to go back to the stairs, but she heard steps quickly going up, which could mean more projections coming from there.

Finally she saw Arthur; now back at his usual clothes, crouched behind a stall. He didn't see her and the guards were getting close to him. So she waited for a guard to distance himself from the others and when he was just a few steps from her she bashed his head with the laptop, knocking him out. The sounds made all others turn to her direction, giving Arthur a chance to notice her and move closer.

They nodded at each other, while bullets started flying all over, she began to run. Arthur fired back for a while, giving her cover to go to him. They met in the way, as together they ran towards a near office, jumping out of the window, broken glass rapidly failing with them towards the ground. The strong wind in her face was chilling and she… Well, she was almost touching his hand, interlacing her fingers with his own when…

…She woke up with a start, breathing hard. She was at the backseat of Bertie's car and Arthur was beside her, already taking out the needle of his wrist and disconnecting the other man as well. She took out her own and sighed in relief. The feel of his hand in hers sadly dissipated, just like so many things in dreams after waking up.

They left the car. Arthur looked around to see if they had attracted attention and then at his cell phone to find out the time.

"An hour. That was quick. Did you get everything we needed it?"

She smiled proudly.

"Yes. I did it. Nothing too interesting, but I did it."

He smiled a little, satisfied with the news.

"I was a little worried in the end there. But we managed okay, didn't we?" he offered his hand to her, which she took eagerly. "Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Good job. For a first time."

"So that means there'll be other times?"

"Maybe."

The handshake ended.

"Arthur, come on…"

"You don't lie very well … Also you weren't careful enough, not quick enough…"

She groaned and started walking away from him.

"I'm just being honest…" he explained, following her.

"And I just extracted information from a dream! I was amazing! Don't take that away so soon", she complained, crossing her arms.

"It's my job to keep you grounded. For your own safety," he paused then cleared his throat. "And of the whole team."

"So that means I'm going to be the extractor for the mission?" she asked with hope.

"Like I said: maybe. Let's just do a few more training sessions before and see how it goes."

"Okay. That's fair. I can accept that."

He relaxed then, and both fell into a steady pace together.

"You were great in there," he whispered in her ear, sometime later.

She smiled, her heart beating a little too fast.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

"Do you think I made the right choice?"

"Yes. She has talent, passion and is one the most grounded person that I know of, expect maybe you."

He had called Cobb so he would agree with Arthur on how bad Ariadne's crazy idea was, instead, his friend approved it wholehearted.

"What if I'm agreeing with this for the wrong reasons?"

"What wrong reasons, Arthur?"

There was a hint of humor on his voice. He probably already suspected the answer, but wanted to hear Arthur say out loud anyway.

"Personal reasons."

"Would you let her go in there if she was less talented?"

"No."

"Then that's your answer."

"Is that simple?"

"If you want, yes."

He didn't answer. He felt like he was losing control, like was letting her in too much. He just couldn't help it nor stop it. And that was a troubling notion.

"Stop overanalyzing," Cobb chastised him noticing his silence. "Just let things happen for once."

And then he ended the call, frustrating Arthur even more. He looked at his board, were diagrams of the levels were sketched on. With Ariadne going, he could bring Eames with him if a third level turned out to be needed. In some cases, too many people in a mission made it more difficult, but in this one it would give him a better back up plan. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he wouldn't find anyone trustworthy in time. Edwards was leaving town in one month, a new job opportunity waiting for him outside the country. If he wasn't innocent it would mean that he was planning on getting some distance to let things cool down and probably get rid of evidence. He couldn't risk his only chance by waiting to find a good extractor.

So, with all that to consider, Arthur choose to agree with Cobb. She had natural talent for it. Yes, he wanted to keep seeing her. Yes, he wanted her to like him. Yes, he wanted to make her happy by showing he trusted her abilities. But it didn't mean he was putting her at risk by being selfish or that he was compromising the mission for personal reasons.

It was simply the best choice available.

"So, you took her out to dinner. And then for a little action after. Good boy."

He rolled his eyes at Eames, who had just entered the loft and, it seemed, had heard his conversation with Cobb.

"I'm adding "privacy" to the list of words that you don't know the meaning of."

"Pfft. I hardly call a conversation in the middle of our work place something private."

"And you make it sound like I slept with her. I didn't it."

"Everybody knows that bringing a gal to an extraction mission is just foreplay."

"I was teaching her."

"I bet."

The smirk on his face was one the reasons Eames annoyed him so much.

"Everybody also knows that when someone is interested in the love life of other people, that someone is not getting any."

Ariadne had just walked in with a smirk of her own.

"Now, that's how the game is played. She should be the one teaching you, Arthur."

"Good morning to you too, Eames," she said passing by him, apparently in a very good mood. She then waved at Arthur, before going to her office to start working.

"You heard she mentioning a "love life", didn't you?" Eames said as soon she was out of sight.

"It was a joke, Eames. Stop playing the match maker, it's annoying. More than your usual level of annoyance anyway."

"You'll thank me later."

"Keep dreaming."

"Always."

Soon he was too busy to think of Eames suggestions. There was a long list of things to be done. He already collected enough information and photos for Ariadne so she could plan the maze for the first level of the dream, but the second one was not near enough done. He needed to find out more details of Edwards' childhood for starters, which Arthur still hadn't managed to crack. His mother was a waitress in Chicago before getting pregnant and leaving the city back to her family farm for help. Then, nothing. No school records or family pictures, nothing until he was excelling in Illinois Institute of Technology via a scholarship. By then his mother had passed away and he was working to support himself. Arthur needed more than that to find out a defining moment in Edwards' life. He sincerely hoped the man was innocent; anything else was going to be a nightmare.

He also listed possible ways to confirm his guilt. The picture of Carl with his parents, the murder weapon and the conversation he had with the boy in the club. Those were their best shots.

Guy was also a potential problem. It wasn't the case of a bodyguard or a mercenary contracted to follow them in the dream. He was a close friend of the victim, arrogant to think himself better than the rest of the team and with good knowledge of how to manipulate dreams to his needs. Arthur wouldn't even begin to think of all the ways he could screw things up. Plant evidence, kill Edwards before the time, provoke the subject into violence and so many other troubling possibilities. He really needed the boy to trust them, while also controlling him in some way. He saw no choice but to let Ariadne befriend him, annoying as that was.

By noon, he figured he had to stop avoiding the inevitable and went to Ariadne's office. She was sitting with her back to him and was so concentrated in her drawings that didn't notice him at first. He could see some maze layouts and, as always, it impressed him how she could make them so quickly while successfully integrating different sceneries. Knowing he would have to do something to grab her attention, he put his hand in his pockets and walked towards her.

"Come back to reality, Ariadne," he said, tilting his head so she could see him.

She almost jumped backwards, a slight blush in her cheeks when noticing him at last. It was enough for him to remember the kiss they shared and regret approaching her like that. Being so close to her adorable face made him want to kiss her again.

"I didn't saw you," she explained, recovering from the scare.

"I know," he smiled, backing away a little, to give both them more space to recover. "How are things coming?"

"They aren't," she confessed with a frown. "There's too much detail. I think I need to see the place for myself."

It was now Arthur's turn to frown.

"… You said someone was there already? Maybe he could let me in. And... Guy invited me, I thought it could be a good opportunity, you know, to see the club and get him to trust me more…"

"Yusuf knows the club already. Just worry about the mazes."

"What about the apartment…? I need to know the exact fabrics and textures to bring him samples…"

"I can arrange that. My contact can bring them."

"I still think I should go to this club."

"Not a good idea."

"Why not? I could determine Guy's abilities, find more about the place and get him to trust me."

Why did she always had to insist?

"I don't want to attract attention to us. People who go there… Well, they might know some of us and still hold a grudge."

"Well, I doubt anyone knows me yet."

"You would be surprised."

He could see that picked her interest.

"Me?"

"Word gets around fast in this line of work."

"For people who steal so many secrets, you guys really don't know how to keep them."

He chuckled, glad that she didn't need more convincing. Guy and her down there was the last thing he wanted.

"Anyway, do you think you could take a break? I think is time for your second lesson."

She was out of the chair, pencil down, immediately.

"What are we waiting for?"

They walked back to the chairs, he adjusted the machine, placing the needles in their wrists and soon they're dreaming.

He opened his eyes and around him was shooting range inside a building with dozens of pathways, enough to detour her subconscious for a long time, if needed.

"That's a lot of guns," she commented, pointing towards a table full of pistols, shotguns, grenade launchers and submachine guns. She grabbed a rifle, handling it with difficult while turning to his direction.

"Please don't point that towards me," he asked, moving out of her way. "You don't want the whole building coming down at you."

"Sorry," she said, not appearing very concerned with the possibility of shooting him.

"Let's just start with the basics, shall we?"

He took away the rifle, putting back to its place, and instead gave her a pistol.

"This is your new best friend. The M9 pistol. Pistols are the best weapon for urban room-to-room combat, and the M9 it's the top of its category. They can be concealed easily, are durable and light to carry, giving us more agility to maneuver in combat."

He took one for himself, walking next to a table and started to dismount the gun, with quick experienced movements. He then explained to her the names of each piece and how they worked, describing the number of rounds a pistol could carry, how to load it and the specificities of each caliber.

"It's important that you know not just how to shoot, but also, how a gun works. The physics of it. So when you shoot it on a dream it will feel real to everyone involved, especially the one feeling the impact of the bullet."

"So, I am the one who controls it?"

"Yes, in way. If your brain doesn't know the variation between a 9mm caliber to a .32, then it won't shoot them with enough force to make the impact different."

"Are you saying that I can fool my mind into not feeling a bullet?"

"Not exactly. We have functions outside our control working behind it all. When we're dreaming our brain is being fooled into thinking this is reality, so, even if you try to think "this bullet doesn't exist", your brain will still think it is. So the bullet will still shock your brain into waking up."

"But if it's just a wound…"

"You can somewhat lessen the pain. That's why going to another level normally makes a wound disappear for a while, because the brain is again being fooled into thinking current level is the true reality."

"So it goes both ways… The one who shoots needs to know the force of a bullet, but the one who got shot can trick himself into thinking it's not that bad?"

"Yeah, something like that. You see, everyone involved in the dream is limited to the logical expectations of their brains. So, if a glass cup drops on the floor, it will break because everyone knows in real life that how it works. And if it doesn't, then the brain starts to think something is wrong."

"The projections."

"Yes. They are the way the brain has to stop the nonsense, so to speak."

"But at the same time strange things happen all the time in dreams and we don't notice. Like appearing in the middle of a street without knowing how we got there, flying above a city or dancing bears with tutus."

"Bears with tutus?"

"You know what I mean…"

He chuckled, assembling the M9 back again.

"The appearance from out of nowhere is accepted because of our distorted notion of time in dreams. Things happen fast or slow and the brain doesn't register properly. Flying can be just a really slow fall. Also, the point of the dream is to deal with memories and thoughts, so if it's just you dreaming, they don't appear to be strange, because they are part of you already. But if it someone else brings their ideas, the brain rejects it."

He picked the pistol up and pointed at one of the targets in the distance.

"Now for the dancing bears… Well, I got nothing."

She laughed, watching him shoot.

"Childhood trauma, probably."

He gestured her to come closer, bringing herself to stand in the direction of the targets, pointing her gun at one of them.

"One thing… Can I change the direction of a bullet?"

"What do you mean?"

She positioned herself, lifted the gun, stared a little and then pulled the trigger. At first it appeared the bullet was going to hit the middle of it, and then somehow it made a curve downwards hitting what represented a man's left leg.

"That was... Unexpected," he admitted, admiring her skills. Cobb was right when he said she was truly creative.

"Do you think I can do it without attracting too much attention?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If you make it less apparent. It could work great with moving targets. The trick is to make exaggerations of a real thing, you know? So they can still be somewhat believable."

"Like… A Hollywood movie."

"Yeah, more or less," he smirked.

They spent the rest of the dream experimenting with different guns. She liked the pistol better. Everything else made her a little uncomfortable. Love for excitement didn't mean the same as a taste for violence.

In the end, Arthur had fun for the first time in a long time. It felt a relief just to talk, laugh and be with her, without worrying about what it all could mean. But when they both woke up, Eames gave him a wink and a nod of encouragement. It was then he realized he was fighting a lost battle. He decided to keep fighting it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there'll be more AA moments next chapter, and a hint of Arthur's past. Again, thanks so much for the reviews!


	5. Sleep

"Right! Right! Turn fucking right, Ariadne, dear!"

"I know! Stop screaming at me!"

She was never a particular good driver. For most of her life she had been an enthusiastic user of public transportation. Trains, subway, buses, she loved them all. Driving? Not so much. The last thing she drove was her friend's Smart, while he threw up over the window in a typical college night out in Paris. And all the way to his house she had to keep driving at 12mp/h so his head didn't explode.

Now she was driving like a maniac an enormous SUV in a copy of New York City complete with the absurd traffic, insane taxi drives and bullets holes in her car windows. Red lights? What red lights?

At least there were no trains appearing out of nowhere.

She turned right, almost spinning the car over with the force and velocity. Arthur projections' were following them, getting closer and closer, shooting like crazy army people. Well, they were crazy army people. The ones in Fisher head looked like children next to these guys. She wouldn't be surprised if a tank showed up.

"Darling, can you turn around? I think I left my liver back there..."

Sadly, she didn't have the time to banter with Eames, a helicopter was following them and she had to think of quick way to shake him off.

"Eames… What street are we?"

"5th avenue."

"I'm going thought Park Avenue…"

"The tunnel…"

"Yeah."

"This is going to be a massacre. Go right ahead."

He then got up, putting almost half of his body out of the window, and started to shoot at their pursuers. She pressed the gas, cutting trough the traffic the best she could. Inside the tunnel, things got a little claustrophobic. She stayed between lanes, destroying tons of windshields on her way.

"Are we there yet, mom? Because they are getting closer."

"I got an idea! Hang on!"

Suddenly she turned the car left, cutting her way towards the other lane, causing a huge accident behind them, with cars colliding against each other, and hopefully slowing the projections too. Then, she got out of the car, signaling Eames to follow her. With her pistol out, she stopped in front a car, almost getting hit by it. She pointed the gun towards the driver.

"Get out now."

The man was out of the car quickly, but he also had a gun. He pointed at her, almost pulling the trigger…

A bullet flew to her left, hitting the man right in his head.

"Thanks," she said to Eames, heart racing.

"Arthur's subconscious doesn't play around, love. They are all armed now. Watch out next time."

She nodded, getting in the car with him. Quickly they were leaving the tunnel, while the projections stayed behind in the chaos of the accident. The helicopter wasn't following them anymore, which bought them a little time without pursuers. Finally they're back on track. She made twisting turns, ignoring the traffic lights, remembering the maze path like she had a map right in front of her.

They arrived at the building with no aggressive projections near it. Hiding their guns the best they could, Ariadne and Eames entered the main hall. A couple of security guards eyed them with suspicion, but they managed to take an elevator before things turned ugly.

Inside she finally let out a breath of relief.

"Not over yet," was Eames warning.

"He's still miles away."

Eames smirked, reloading his pistol.

"You don't really know our boy, doll."

"And you do?"

"My, oh my… Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"What? No." she replied, distressed by the idea of being so obvious. "Only genuine curiosity.'

He laughed while waiting for the door to open. He got out, watching their left, while she surveyed the right. The corridor was empty. Almost running they kept going, looking for the right door, where the safe was. When they found it, Ariadne unlocked the door liked Eames had taught her and they both went inside.

It was five stars hotel room, very posh, very Arthur. The safe was in the bedroom, waiting to be opened. Anxious to end the training session before the sedative could wear off, she walked into the place, not bothering to check her surroundings. On one knee she started working trough the numbers for the right combination. There was a click, but it was not the triumphant sound of the safe opening, instead, it was the safety catch of a gun behind her.

"Always clear the room before entering," Arthur's voice reproached her, a hint of amusement.

She sighed, turning around to face him.

"How did you get it here? We left you tied up on the back of a truck back in New Jersey!"

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

"That's really cute, Arthur. How did you do it?"

"Pocket knife. You never checked my pockets."

"I can't believe I forgot that."

She got up, frustrated by the stupid mistake. All that trouble to fail so close to the end. Except…

Except Eames was coming silently into the room, one finger on his lips so she wouldn't signal Arthur to her partner appearance. Now she only had to distract him.

"Did you like the room?" she asked, trying to keep his attention towards her.

"Yes. Especially the Escher painting. Great attention for details, I'm impressed."

She smiled a little. Eames moved closer, the butt of his gun raised.

"I also like the way you're trying to distract me", Arthur said while blocking Eames gun with great timing. "Too slow."

"I'm only starting, darling."

While the fought she went back to the safe, finally putting the right combination. It opened revealing the secret she was charged to retrieve.

The timer got off and in a second she opened her eyes, safely sitting on the chair in the loft. Next to her Eames was also waking up, a smirk on his face. Arthur was the last one up.

"So, what was the information?"

"Well, I won. Eames was way off. It was Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the knife."

"I remember you betting on Colonel Mustard in the billiard room. "

"Still, two out of three is the best result."

Eames rolled his eyes.

"You're both adorable nerds." he said, getting up. "Here I am, disturbed by Arthur clear paranoid tendencies and you two care more about who won a kiddies board game."

"Clue is a classic game of deduction," Arthur defended. "It helps us to develop extraction skills, really, and it is not just a kiddie's board game."

"Yes it is."

"And I don't have paranoid tendencies."

"Yes, yes you do."

"No. I don't."

"Sorry Arthur. You kinda have," Ariadne interjected with laughter.

"What?" he turned at her, completely shocked by the betrayal.

"I mean… Helicopters? Marines with rocket launchers? Your head is a war zone."

He opened his mouth to answer, but Eames just shook his head at him, while leaving both alone. Ariadne at least tried to look sorry for her comment. But it was true and a little scary. He clearly had too many walls around him. Could she ever reach him?

"I'm just prepared," he explained after a minute or so of silence.

She sighed, touching her totem while avoiding his eyes. She wanted to ask him so many questions. Eames was right; she didn't know him at all and it was because Arthur hadn't let her.

"I suppose you are ready," he finally said. "Actually if my subconscious is half as bad you two make it out to be, then… You're more than ready."

"It's not really that bad," she tried, worrying that he was offended by her earlier comment.

"Well… I'm going back to work. Still hadn't any luck with Edwards' background. Congrats again."

She nodded watching him leave, feeling terrible. This was supposed to be her last training session; she was now officially part of the team going into the mission. She should be celebrating. And yet, it ended in a sour note. Why something always had to go wrong with the two of them? He was immensely frustrating. Even after he taught her so many skills and they spent almost months' worth of dreaming, she didn't know his last name yet. She wanted to know so badly what was going on his stubborn head. Especially the kiss. It was weighting in her mind for a while now, and, because of it she felt she was always stepping on eggs with him. Like he almost… Almost wanted kiss her again too but then she says too much or tries too hard and his head turns around and the subject is changed like nothing happened.

The mission was going to happen soon, now. They had only two weeks to prepare and so many problems to solve. Yusuf's level was done, but hers was still bare. And now they had limbo to worry about. She could use all of that as excuses for him, reasons for his distance, but it wasn't enough. She considered the possibility of simply questioning him face to face, coming clean about her feelings.

Because she couldn't deny them any longer. With just a simple kiss he had her. The smirk, the "it was worth a try", they all opened her eyes to really see him. And what little he let her see was incredible.

He was stylish, smart, and incredibly hot. His suave confidence made her weak on the knees. And he got her, he really did. They wanted the same thing from dreams. The trill, the art, the unimaginable potential of everything. She wanted to experience all of it with him. He made it all even more entertaining, interesting and fun. Guy had the wrong idea, trills weren't about crazy dreams, they were about who did you share it. She wanted to share her dreams with Arthur, if he only could let her.

Or maybe she was just making a big deal of a stupid kiss.

Sighing she went to Eames office, looking for not only advice but perspective. He was, like always, appearing to be doing absolutely nothing. He was throwing cards at a hat, both feet on his desk. A true artist liked to improvise, he said. Which she knew was a lie, he just preferred to act like snobbish actor with pure "talent" and no need for mortal things, like memorizing lines. But they all knew he practiced tireless every move and manner of his subject of forgery.

"Guy lent me some more videos. If you want," she said, dropping a pen drive on his desk.

"Ah, you're a peach, I appreciate it," he thanked her, throwing the last card and missing the hat by almost a mile. "So… What can Uncle Eames do for you?"

She sat on the chair in front of the desk, passing her fingers trough the fabric of her favorite scarf. She almost went for her totem, too, looking for reassurance. Eames noticed. Nothing escaped him.

"You said I didn't know him", she started. "Well, I want to know him."

His feet were on the floor, the hat in his head. While he gathered the cards scattered in his desk, she waited anxiously for an answer.

"Ask him, love, not me," he gave her a serious look, while shuffling the cards.

"It's not that easy. Can't you tell me anything?"

"I can tell a few things. But it's not from me that you want to hear."

"It's a start."

"Well. I can tell you about his skills, his weak points, his résumé, his really bad right hook. His strange fascination for early fifties' British art. But personal history? Nothing. I met him on his third mission. He got me killed and we are friends ever since. That beautiful friendship you see every day was born because of a bullet to my ass. He followed Cobb like a lost puppy his whole career, from what I heard."

"How did he meet him?"

"No idea. After Mal and Cobb married, that much I know."

"Did she do extraction with them too?"

"No. Back then it were all hippie dreams to Cobb and her."

"So… Does he have any family?"

"Probably not. You got to understand, love. This life we have, it's not PG. This job, it doesn't leave room for a missus, two chicks and a white picket fence. There aren't days on the beach, no picnics in the park, no golden retrievers running on the grass. This is it. The next job is all that we have. And some don't anything more."

"I get that. But still…"

"Most of us are lonely 'fellas. Arthur's no different. And you keep this up, you'll stop having a family pretty soon too."

"Doesn't explain his… His distance."

"No. That just him being bloody stubborn. I'm hoping you'll be the one to find out his dirty little secrets. You better not to disappoint me. And don't forget to share them with me after."

"Me? I don't even know where to start."

"Staring at him with your pretty eyes is a good start as any."

She rolled her eyes, putting her feet in the chair, both hands hugging her legs.

"He'll just look the other way," she argued.

That made Eames laugh.

"That means its working, poppet."

"I doubt it."

"And that's why you fail. Honestly, did you two never dance this dance before? Are you both virgins?"

"He just makes me… So… Unsure of everything."

"That's love for you."

She didn't have an answer for that.

"Arthur likes you, darling. It's plain as day. Stop worrying about this and that, and… As they say… Carpe diem".

It wasn't the pep talk she wanted, but at least it gave a little hope. She thanked him and went back to her office, passing most of the day toying with her totem and looking at her drawings without really seeing them.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

"You must pay attention to the clock at all times," Yusuf explained, while pouring the modified sedative into the machine. "Do not forget the pill. It's important that you remember to place in your pocket when the dream begins."

"Got it."

He pulled one of his sleeves, exposing his wrist. He was almost nervous, but it had to be done sooner rather than later. It was time to test his crazy theory and see if he could come back from Limbo. For a moment he considered calling Ariadne to keep his promise to her. But the idea of her exploring that place with him was overwhelming. Not only she could be lost down there, never to return, but also he was afraid of what he was going to find there.

As if he was capable of hearing his thoughts, Eames appeared to watch the test.

"Didn't you promise a certain girl that you were going together?"

"Yes. But she already got too much work. And I decided that two people going is a waste. Why risk both of us?"

"Someone will be very angry at you. If you come back, that's it."

"Better angry than dead."

"She was a great help to Cobb," Yusuf said, after a pause.

"I'm not Cobb," he insisted. "Let's do this."

Both men looked at each other, clearly disagreeing with him. Frustrated by their attitude, he hooked himself up to the machine, feeling the strong effect of the sedative almost immediately.

The dream was nothing but an empty room. No furniture, no wallpaper, no wooden floor, no windows. Only him and white walls. He felt the pill inside his right pocket, his totem in the left one and a gun in his back. In his wrist was a watch, which he updated by listening to the constant sound of the time passing slowly around him. It gave the illusion that something was very near him, like a huge clock standing or a church bell perhaps; its echo drawn out by the time distortion.

Now, inside the dream, he wasn't afraid. Maybe it was overconfidence, but he was actually anxious to go and prove he could come back. He had done many crazy things in his extraction career, most of them with precision and planning, yet crazy things nevertheless. Limbo was the last concept to be experienced. When Cobb told him about his journey with Mal, Arthur could only reproach him for risking too much and maybe loosing his grip to reality, which, of course, proved to be the case (Although Arthur only learned that recently). But Mal and him, they're the artists, explorers of the mind, nothing could stop them. Arthur could marvel at their dream constructions and experiences but he never felt truly connect with it. They always were in a completely different level than him, always wanting more and needing to test the limits. Arthur, instead, could find out the limits and used them, but never break them all the way.

Well, here he was, breaking one, perhaps the greatest.

The gun was against his head.

And then he was at a beach. Salt ruining his hair, clothes clinging against his body from the water, a light breeze blowing around him, the waves were breaking into almost white sand. It felt incredible real even when there was no ocean behind him and the sand ended into nothing. He thought it was going to be dark, oppressing, instead it was an open world, he was alone and everything was possible.

"Focus."

He listened. His watch marked 2 minutes. He had dreamt for a half-hour in the first level. Finally he noticed a distant sound, a clang echoing constantly. It appeared to be far, so far away that he could ignore it if he wanted, but he resisted the urge. His watch started to move again, barely and slowly, but it continued to count the seconds like they were minutes.

He walked away from the beach, deciding it was reasonable to expect more sand, so more sand appeared in the previous blank floor. He noticed a sky for the first time, bright blue with a few perfect clouds.

Eames could have called it boring. Arthur liked the peace.

A man was sitting in chair. He was far away but the black leather chair was impossible not to recognize. He had his back at Arthur.

Arthur considered walking towards him, but nothing good could come of it. The familiar clang was nearer now. 3 minutes.

He went to the right, following the shore, putting distance between the man in the chair and himself. He needed to practice building things.

He started small with only a bench; it grew from the stand, shaping itself and turning into stone after. Arthur sat on it, feeling the material with one hand. Again it felt scary real. A lamppost appeared on his right, then a street and a car.

From the corner of his eyes Arthur could still see the man in the chair.

He walked towards the car, touching it but the paint was still fresh and his fingers were now colored bright red. Then, the car melted right in front of him, turning back to sand like it never existed. His watch started to melt as well, like a painting he once saw.

He walked more and more, feet bare. The sand felt raw against his skin, it made him cold. He lost his shoes somewhere, a long time ago.

"Focus."

No, the shoes were back on, six minutes. Just six minutes. The watch formed itself again in his wrist.

It was suddenly night. He created a room, with only three walls, like a stage. He painted the walls brown, placing paintings all over, conjuring furniture, a sofa, a bed and a black leather chair. The carpet warmed his bare feet.

No, he was wearing shoes, he was certain. Just eight minutes, the sound of the clock reminded him.

He looked behind him. There was a ballerina far away, the same one he saw when he was five. Back then had lived in an apartment with front windows to a ballet school, he remembers watching them dance, practicing pirouettes. It's his only memory of home.

That made him shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. It was pointless to go back.

"Who is she?"

He turned to the voice, confused. It was Ariadne, looking at him with a smile.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Well, I am.'

He looked at his watch, it was midnight. Strange. He needed to fix the thing, it was always breaking.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you need me here."

"You're not her."

"Who?"

"Ariadne."

She tilted her head a little, amused at him.

"Who else could I be? Are you okay, Arthur?"

"I…"

He looked beyond, back at the beach. He could see an ocean and a beautiful sunrise on the horizon. All the time he felt Ariadne watching him. Could she be there with him? There…?

"I'm fine."

"Who is he?"

He turned around to see what she was pointing out. A man in a chair. It was strange to see a chair in the middle of a beach and a man sitting in it, dressed like he was…

"My grandfather."

"Can we meet him?"

"No… He…"

"Arthur, look at me."

He obeyed. Her face was porcelain white, a slightly blush in her cheeks, a friendly smile in her red lips. He wanted to kiss her.

"Kiss me."

He did. The air around them changed, her lips were sweet and warm, and absolutely right. He dared to put one of his hands on her soft hair and the other on her waist. He was taller than her, so when she kissed him in return more fiercely than ever she grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down. They fell on the grass.

No, it was a carpet.

His feet were bare.

He didn't care.

They were both out of breath, he was on top of her, staring at her flushed face, a gorgeous smile in her lips.

"Your shirt, it's wrinkled now. Sorry."

"I don't care."

"What about your hair?"

She messed his carefully combed hair.

"Don't care either," he answered with a smirk.

"I think you should."

He eyed her, confused as to why she was suddenly serious.

"Do you have a lucky number?"

"What?"

"Your die, it fell out of your pocket."

There was a ringing noise now, an insisting hum that gave him a headache. It couldn't stop.

"I don't care about the die."

She opened a smile, kissing him deeply for a second time. He forgot about the noise, about the die, the carpet, the bare feet. The kiss was the only thing it mattered, and he didn't want it to end. But when it did he stood up, offering his hand to her, which she took. They were in a spacious hotel room, wine glasses on a table and rumpled sheets in the bed. She went to the window; the view was a peaceful beach, waves breaking into white sand.

"I think I like this place. I could live here," he announced, picking his die up.

"Not a good idea," a voice said behind him.

Calm, he turned around to see the ballerina. She was blond, angular face and wearing a grave expression.

"Why not?"

"Throw the die."

He started at it; it felt strange on the palm of his hand, almost accusing.

"No."

"Who is she?" Ariadne voice repeated, she was now beside him.

"I don't know."

"Yes, yes you do, darling," the ballerina smirked.

Ariadne took his free hand.

"Who is he?" she asked, pointing to a man sitting in a chair to their right, his back at them.

"My grandfather."

"Can we meet him?"

He felt out of place, sitting there in his dark suit, a glass of whisky in on hand…

"No… He…"

The noise was unbearable now. He let the die go, the red object falling and turning and turning. Then, it stopped.

"Seven," he proclaimed without even looking at it.

"No, five."

"It should be seven."

Ariadne looked at him, with a sad expression. She grabbed the die and let it fall once more.

"Three."

Arthur faced the ballerina.

"This is not real."

She nodded and disappeared. The sound of the clock was back, now clearer than ever. His watch marked thirty minutes. It felt like days had passed.

He turned to the man in the chair, his grandfather. There was no one anymore. Just an empty chair. Sighing he faced Ariadne, she was sober now, more like herself.

Her eyes pleaded him to believe in her, but she kept her silence. He wanted her to ask him to stay. But he knew that she could never ask such a thing of him. Even a projection of her wouldn't dare. It didn't matter, he wanted to stay. Every fiber of his being wanted it.

And that was the most terrible realization of all.

"I'll be waiting for you," she said.

"Don't."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry."

He nodded. She disappeared too.

Alone, and that was truly for the best, he took the pill from his right pocket, swallowing quickly.

Death was painless.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

She fidgeted, almost bit her nails and was contemplating pulling her hair out.

"Can't we do something?"

Yusuf shook his head, worried as well. Eames was watching it all in complete silence, his lack of commentary of the situation only made her even more anxious. The sedative had worn off ten minutes ago.

Arthur was still sleeping.

When she saw him in that chair, she was so mad at him. He had gone without her, breaking his promise and in turn destroying her trust in him. She felt betrayed and utterly frustrated. Most of all she was scared. She wanted to help him, he needed her there. And now he was lost, alone and risking everything, why? Because he was a stubborn bastard.

"A kick maybe?"

"He won't feel it, Ariadne. I am sorry."

"I knew this was a bad idea. It was so real down there. Mal, she was… I almost believed she was real for an instant and an instant it's all it takes."

"He knew what he was doing," Yusuf reassured. "He will come back."

"Bollocks. He didn't know anything at all," Eames finally said with his arms crossed.

Ariadne looked at him, silently asking for a solution, but the man was just angry. He stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with the chemist.

"I hate feeling this helpless. There's got to be something."

"I will look into something, maybe a shock? I read somewhere… I think I have the book in my office. Don't worry, I'm sure he will come back," the man tried to calm her with a hand in her shoulder before leaving.

Alone, she sat next to him. She sat there for what it felt like an eternity. Her fingers brushed his hair slowly, carefully so to not mess it too much; he always maintained an impeccable appearance. And yet he didn't seem vain.

"Wake up already. Don't you care about anything anymore? I think you should, Arthur," she whispered. "I know you do. Just throw your die. Please."

She sighed.

"I'm waiting for you."

A minute later, when his eyes opened slowly, she smiled, relieved and so completely happy.

"You woke up," she whispered, awed and slightly confused.

"Yes, I guess I did."

He sat, taking out the needle of his wrist. He wasn't looking at her, avoiding her eyes on purpose, she could tell. Now her anger was starting to come back.

"I can't believe you did this. How could you?"

"Can we not talk about this now?"

"You made me a promise."

He didn't answer her; instead, he stood up and walked away towards the nearest table. She saw he throw the die on it, one, two, three times. It was the first time she noticed him ever use it. For a moment she wanted forget that he left her there or that she was angry and just go to him. Her pride didn't let her.

"You got lost in there," she said, not asked.

"It's fine."

"No, Arthur, it really isn't."

"I just need practice. Next time it'll be easier."

"There isn't going to be one. Not unless I'm coming."

She marched in his direction, mad that he still hadn't faced her.

"I made a decision for the best of the mission. Don't take it so personally."

She was beyond angry now. She grabbed him by the left shoulder, forcing him to turn. When he did, she could see that he wasn't fine, not even close. There was something in his expression. Was it regret? Fear? They way he kept avoiding her eyes worried her.

"Arthur, look at me."

He finally did.

"What do you want, Ariadne?"

"An explanation, at least."

"It was the safest decision."

"Don't me give that. You know is not the whole truth."

"I don't know what you mean."

Frustrated, she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. A quick and simple kiss, like the one he gave her in a dream. She didn't know why she did it, not really. It just made sense. Felt right.

But it ended without being reciprocated. She hoped at first that his lack of reaction was perhaps surprise. That theory was proved wrong when she felt him tense and his hands were on hers, slowly taking them away from his face.

After that there was only silence, unbearable silence. His expression was blank, while her heart was beating fast.

"I'm sorry, Ariadne. I think maybe I gave you the wrong idea."

She bit her lip; moving backwards a little, giving herself space to breath.

"It was worth a shot," she only said, almost running away, leaving the loft, dreams, her totem and Arthur behind.

When she arrived at the street, she thought she was going to cry. She wasn't the crying type, the last time it happened she had fallen off her bike, being just a little girl and her father had consoled her, placing a band-aid on her knee and a cookie in her hands. She often felt sadness, frustration, but never with the need to cry. Maybe humiliation was the key.

"Ariadne?"

She turned, hoping it was Arthur ready to apologize and kiss her, but it was only Guy, a curious expression in his face, having left the loft to smoke. She just stared at him, not coherent enough to make small talk.

"Got bored too, waiting for that guy to wake up already?"

She barely nodded. He threw the cigar in the ground, stepping on it. His lips formed a smile.

"Want to get out of here?"

She hesitated for a second.

"Yes."


	6. The city of drawers

Things moved fast after that. In a blink of an eye she was in front of a metal door, walking in a narrow corridor, going down by an old staircase, following Guy without really thinking what she was doing. She barely registered where they were going. She knew already, but chose to ignore the warning bells ringing in her mind.

The muffed sound of music and a strange smell of spice overwhelmed her senses at the bottom of the stairs. In front of them a muscled man with tattoos guarded another metal door, he stopped them briefly, but Guy said something, and with a nod from the bouncer, and they both were in.

The place was full of… Everything and everyone. Red, yellow, green, purple and blue lights flashed around her following the rhythm of a loud beat; it was a fast and intense song with a woman screaming the lyrics, transforming the words into mostly jumbled sounds. People danced, screamed and jumped every step of their way to a bar. Most of them were sweaty messes, with a strange paint in their faces and hands that glowed in the dark. Guy turned to her, explaining that each color represented the type of experience they wanted tonight.

There wasn't a barman to serve them, instead anyone could go to the other side of the counter, serve themselves or prepare drinks to people, if they wanted. Guy jumped above it, gathering two glasses and pouring alcohol in it, she didn't ask what drink it was, she just lifted the glass to her mouth and drank all of it in one swing. People next to her applauded and Guy, looking impressed, prepared her another drink.

While he did it, she looked around. There was barely a free space, she didn't know exactly how big the club was, but she was certain that it was overcrowded. People stumbled against each other, pressing their bodies together. The heat was too much, combining sweat with smoke from what it looked like a hell lot of incense and dry ice. And far away she could see people climbing a stage, where the band tried to play. Their reason was to reach a huge pipe that poured water over the crowd.

"Here," Guy screamed at her so to be heard above all the noise, offering another drink.

"Thanks. Is it always like this?"

"Oh yeah. But this is just the beginning."

"Beginning for what?"

"You'll see. Wanna dance?"

"No yet."

He laughed.

"You need a few more drinks before that, uh? I understand. It can be a little intimidating."

"I'm not intimidated."

"S'okay. Everyone is afraid their first time."

"This is really not my first time in places like this. I just don't want to dance now, Guy."

"Suit yourself."

He gave her a wink before climbing over the bar counter and then diving into the crowd, who kept him up, until he was gone from her sight and in the middle of the huge mass of dancers. People bumped against her, asked her for drinks (spilling the ones already in their hands in her clothes), told her she had a nice ass, tried to kiss her. She wasn't impressed by the place. It reminded her of her friends back at Paris, their nights out together and what she now perceived as a previously life of mediocrity and boredom.

After her sixth drink, Guy appeared again, purple all over him, laughing his ass off without a particular reason. She assumed he had his share of drinks out there.

"You still standing there? I thought you wanted to have fun."

Suddenly someone shoved him and he lost his balance, falling on her, inevitably she bumped against the bar, hurting her back a little.

"Can't we get out of here?" she asked, annoyed at the pain and the strange paint now all over her clothes.

As if on cue, the music stopped abruptly, she looked at the stage to find out what happened. The band was gone; instead a group of people was standing on it, throwing needles at the crowd, which had gone completely mad, trying to snatch one of the many falling.

"What's happening?" she asked Guy.

"They are giving them the Bu Ran."

"And that is…"

"A drug, kind of. It helps open your mind."

"All drugs are said to do that, what's different in this one?"

"It's for dream sharing; it's a cocktail of lot things you don't want to know what. No more subconscious projections, no more waking up from dying. You can stay dreaming even with someone turning your head or the whole city around."

"Oh…"

People were moving now, going towards walls and columns around the place. She had noticed some strange machinery placed in the walls, but only now she could see they were copies of the PASIV. Quickly people were falling on the ground, asleep with the needles of Bu Ran in their wrists and thousands of cables connecting them would be seen on the ceiling.

"Come on, that's for the rabble. I bought us a private room."

He took her by the hand and led her trough a floor full of dreamers. Some people were still awake and following them as well. They arrived at another narrow corridor, this one with doors on each side, their color matching the ones she saw on the dancers. Guy opened a purple one and they walked inside.

It was a bright room with purple walls and in its center was a circle of five beds, perfectly prepared for them. From the ceiling cables descended, needles in their end. She hesitated.

"What purple means?"

"Discovery."

"And the other colors?"

"Red is love, green is for adventure. Blue is for peace and yellow is death."

"Death?"

"Dying without really dying can be a huge turn on."

She stared at the needle for a second.

"Why purple?"

"Plug in and find out."

Something at the back of her mind told her not to do it. But what it said was ignored when she remembered Arthur blank expression and the absolute failure of a kiss. She grabbed the needle and laid on the bed, Guy joining her too. It was only after her eyes had begun to close that she noticed her totem was not with her.

But it was too late to turn back now.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

"You're absolutely hopeless."

Arthur ignored him, concentrating on the road ahead.

"The girl kisses you, and… What you stupid idiot does? You tell her you're sorry. Never took up for a coward, mate."

He turned the car, ignoring the red light. He was ignoring a lot of things that morning. Most important of all he ignored that a certain architect hadn't shown up to work.

"You're truly hopeless."

"You said that already."

"But not enough times. Maybe if I repeat enough it will finally reach your thick skull."

He said nothing, stepping on the gas. The city of Chicago was behind them now and ahead was nothing but road and grey skies.

"You stupid, stupid idiot," Eames murmured, fidgeting with his cell phone.

"She won't answer, I tried," he informed the man, noticing he was calling Ariadne.

"She won't answer your stupid arse. Maybe I can reach her."

He was way beyond the speed limit and ignored that too. Waiting to see if Ariadne took Eames' call was painful. While he was anxious to find out if she was okay, he didn't want Eames to be right.

"Slow down. Last time I was here the cops wanted to kill me. Don't what that kind of attention," Eames said, noticing his lack of attention to the limit.

"Fine. Did she…?"

"No."

"Maybe later."

"You better hope so."

He sighed. He was not really in the mood to be criticized, deserving or not. Maybe he should have brought Yusuf instead of Eames. At least the man would be a little more discreet in his disapproval of Arthur actions.

His grip on the wheel was incredible tight. He hadn't slept the whole night, his hotel room too oppressing and his bed daunting. He was afraid of dreaming of her again, of failing pray to the same thing that doomed Mal and Cobb. The same thing that… He almost stayed down there with her, and it wasn't even truly her. The kiss… The real one, it only served to remind him of his failure. It wasn't her fault, but his. Limbo was his test and he didn't pass. Love and dreams were too dangerous to mix.

But how to explain to her? He knew Ariadne, she could ignore all the risks. She could try to convince him and probably succeed. And then what? How long would it take for them to make a mistake, on the job or on life, and lose everything?

In the end he had to admit to himself that Eames was right, he choose the easiest way, deciding it was better to be an ass to her, than reveal his weakness. He was never the type to make deep emotional confessions or to tell how he truly felt in long speeches. Easier just to keep her away, make her angry at him.

He was really an idiot.

His GPS told him to take a near exit, which he did. They're going to the Edwards' farm, looking for clues to the man's past. Maybe it was going to be enough to the construction of the second level. Sadly it couldn't mean a thing if Ariadne decided to leave once and for all.

After the exit, the road became narrower, fields on both sides stretching all across the country as far the eye could see. It turned to be a long trip, prolonged even more by Eames intervals of absolute silence and frustrated commentary. He wondered why it bothered the man so much what happened between Ariadne and him. Eames didn't strike him as the romantic type, maybe bohemian and libertine, but not romantic per se. He liked Ariadne, of course, but enough to worry about Arthur breaking her heart? It was a little bizarre.

His cell phone rang, but before he could reach it in the car panel, Eames took it.

"'Ello," followed by a brief pause. "He what?"

Arthur eyed him, worried. Eames put one hand in the speaker, before looking at him.

"You put a tracking device on her phone? You're hopeless. And a paranoid bastard."

"It's Yusuf? Did he manage to find her?"

"I'm not telling you. You don't deserve to know. Really, a tracking device? Should I be worried about your stalker tendencies as well?"

"You know all spare phones I gave you have them. I can track you too if I need."

"Scary. The boy has delusions of grandeur too."

"Just give me the damn phone."

"No. Now, watch the road, there's a big fat cow ahead."

He was fooled by Eames and looked, receiving a smirk from the man. Eames continued to speak to Yusuf, ignoring Arthur's attempts at grabbing the phone with one hand. The call ended and still Eames refused to answer his questions. That lasted about ten minutes before Arthur simply lost his patience and abruptly stopped the car in the middle of the road. That made his co-pilot surprised.

"What did he said?"

"Why do you care, darling? Truly, it seems pointless to tell."

"Is she okay?"

Eames sighed, finally relenting. Maybe it was his tone. Although Arthur hadn't pleaded, his voice betrayed his worry.

"Yes, if you call going to a club of crazy potheads okay."

"She went to that place with Guy."

"Yes."

He thought of many colorful words to call that little rich boy and dozens of ways to make him feel a lot of pain for a long time. He enjoyed the seconds of imagining beating Guy up and then, he let out of a sigh. It was her choice and, after what he did, there was no way of blaming her for going.

He started the engine again, back on track.

"That's it?" Eames asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

"What do you want from me?"

"A reaction."

"No, what you want is an overreaction. You want me to turn this car around and… Probably do something stupid."

"You already did something stupid. You need to fix it."

"I will apologize. But not now. She knows what she's doing. She'll be fine."

The conversation was over. Yes, he was also letting pride decide things for him a little. But he ignored that as well.

The rest of the trip was done in tense silence.

Sometime later they arrived at the farm. From what Arthur could gather, it was empty. Technically, it belonged to Edwards, as he was the last living member of the family, but he clearly hadn't come there in a long time.

Arthur parked the car near the main house, dust lifting behind them. The sun shined with intensity above him, the air heavy. The house was barely standing; it had two floors, its glass windows' broken and door ajar, beside it there was a water tower leaking and a badly damaged barn. The fields were long gone, weeds taking over.

It was a rather sad visage.

As the door was open they had no trouble entering the place. With the camera he brought, Arthur started to take pictures of each room, for future reference. Dust and abandonment filled it them all. Furniture had fallen, some floorboards cracked while they walked over, weak by the passage of time. Eames went to the second floor, looking for personal effects he could use in the dream.

A kitchen, a living room, a small bathroom and a cupboard under the stairs were all the rooms in the first floor. He photographed everything that appeared to be relevant and ripped a few fabric samples of curtains and tablecloths. Childhood memories could be of the strangest things, he couldn't risk ruining the whole job because it wasn't cotton or silk the man remembered in his bed.

After finishing the first floor, Arthur followed Eames to the upper one. There was only two bedrooms and only one shared bathroom, all of them rather small. He found Eames in what appeared to be the mother's, where two single beds and a wardrobe barely left room to move. He was going trough a shoebox.

"Found under the bed," he explained, showing an old yellowed picture of a woman holding a baby. "His mother was a looker."

He nodded; relieved they found something on her.

Two hours later he was more than happy to leave the house. Something in there bothered him. The overall feel of abandonment and the lack of care for the place left him worried. Perhaps Edwards' college would be a better start at exploring the man's mind. It seemed impossible he would hold much emotional attachment of that farm.

The trip back to Chicago was equally uncomfortable. Eames spent most of it looking at the box, now identified as the mother's. There were some letters and a few photos, but nothing very enlightening.

"Do you think is enough?" Arthur asked, glancing at the man.

"With luck his memory of her is murky," was his curt reply.

At last they arrived back at the loft. When entering the place Arthur almost dared to hope she was back, but instead of a glimpse of her scarf or the sound of her voice singing a catchy part of a really bad song in her office, Yusuf greeted them with a grave expression, papers in his hands.

"I'm afraid we have a few problems".

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

"That's my father's house."

"It is?"

"Yeah. All of it. The red door, the pink curtains. The garden… Exactly the same."

"It's cute."

She eyed him before running towards it. The grass was high, not properly cared for in months. So it was the year that her mother had left. Ariadne's father didn't really have the mood for mowing the lawn after she decided being a wife wasn't a life exciting enough. He justified the neglect by complaining of a back pain. Ariadne knew better even back then.

She knocked at the door, not sure why. Technically it was still her house, and above all, it was just a dream. Either way, nobody answered and she didn't enter.

"How did you know?" she asked Guy, just a little behind her, looking at the garden gnomes that her mother loved. She used to call them quaint… "Kitschy".

"Me? This is you."

"I'm the dreamer then?"

"Everyone is a dreamer here. More or less."

"How?"

He kicked one of the gnomes in its ceramic face and it fell. Ariadne supposed that she ought to be irritated at him for ruining one of the few things her mother liked about the house, but it was just a dream. And really, she always thought the gnomes were ridiculous.

"Well, Bu Ran gives us more leverage to make projections of bigger things than just people. Someone is still the official dreamer, but I don't who he or she is. Never met the person, but I think is someone on the staff of Hypnagogia."

While he explained she turned around, looking from where they came, she didn't remember exactly how the dream started, but behind them now was her old street, empty of people or cars, but exactly the same.

"If this is my doing, what are you projecting?"

"Don't know yet. Let's find out."

He passed her and opened the door before she could protest. Inside, everything was exactly the same she remembered. Which was obvious, of course, because it couldn't really be different. It was based on her memory of it after all.

"Where are the rest of the people from the club?" she asked him, remembering all the cables connecting them together.

"This is like a private room, or maybe sandbox. We can go to their place if you want. Just imagine a door and… Done."

A door appeared on their left, in the middle of room, without any walls to support it. Guy opened a little, and she could hear traffic, people laughing and music. The sounds were chaotic, yet she was curious.

"But before we go… I want to you show a few more things."

"Okay…"

"These types of dreams, they... You need to give it time before it really starts to get fun. Discovery is kind of slow sometimes."

She nodded absently, walking on to kitchen and feeling the furniture, the sharp edges, the familiar feel of the dinning table, all the little imperfections she noticed by years of living there. For a moment she considered visiting her old room, see if her books and chessboard were there. Guy's presence, though, made her pause. He wasn't exactly someone she wanted to explore her childhood memories with.

"I just went upstairs. There isn't anyone here," he commented while entering the kitchen as well. "You aren't a people person, are you?"

"Or maybe I think is easier to make houses than people. People are complicated… Some many little details in the way they talk and move… Buildings I can predict. But not people."

"Spoke like a true architect. But this is too bare. You need to do better than this."

"What about you? You aren't projecting anything," she argued, pushing a few stray hairs behind her ear.

He opened a smirk.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Show me what you got," she said crossing her arms.

The house started to shake, objects falling of shelves and tables, chairs moving on their own. Strangely Ariadne didn't feel the vibrations; instead was completely still and balanced. Quickly the floors changed, the walls twisted and turned, furniture disintegrated like it was made from sand. The whole kitchen became a different place. A room in a Tibetan monastery, complete with monks chanting and a strong incense fragrance. She could still see the rest of her house from the old kitchen entry, but everything else was altered.

But Guy didn't stop there. The monastery crumbled away, stones falling from the ceiling without even getting near her. The monks started to run, looking for shelter from the destruction. Then there was fire and she could swear she felt the heat of the flames in her fingers. The walls of the temple were gone in a blink of an eye, just like that. He signaled her to follow him outside.

As they walked out things formed around them. A chandelier, floorboards, beautiful detailed windows. This time it was a place she recognized: the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles.

"This is my favorite stage to practice," he said moving away from her and more to the middle of the long corridor of mirrors, he opened his arms. "I can turn into anyone here."

"You're a forger too?"

"Is that how you call it?" he commented, distracted by his reflection in one of the mirrors, Ariadne moved closer to him, watching him gesture, like he was rehashing a speech. She then realized he was imitating her. He felt an invisible scarf, pushed strays of not existing hair behind his ear, bit his lips, and tilted his head a little.

And then reflection changed. There were now two Ariadnes.

"Do I look pretty?" he asked, his voice still the same.

"Stop that," she said, unnerved by seeing herself simply used like that, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Try it."

"I don't think I can do that."

"Come on, just try it."

"Change back first."

He (or, well, she) rolled his eyes, but then she blinked and he was back at normal.

"Now, just stare at the mirror and think of someone you really know. Think of the way he moves, the way he talks and blinks. The little things."

She did. The first person on her mind was Arthur, but she didn't want to be him, she wanted to be with him. So she thought of someone else, an old teacher who always did the strangest things. The woman dressed like a housewife from the fifties, huge pink glasses and floral dresses. She always checked her nails, painted bright red, and touched her hair when nervous.

The reflection changed somewhat, her nails became bright red, but nothing else happened.

"Try act like the person now, not just think."

She felt her hair, as if it was a hairstyle very hard to maintain, the ones that keep falling apart at the slightest movement. Ariadne also changed her posture; straighten up as if a pact of books was above her head.

For a brief moment her reflection was Professor Mayhall, but then, it flickered and was gone.

"I'm better with mazes," she declared, giving it up.

"Practice makes perfection."

Arthur's voice ringed inside her head like an alarm. "I just need practice. Next time it'll be easier."

"No practicing. Show me something else."

"Alright," he eyed her with curiosity, "If you want."

He stared at the mirror for a little while, feeling his own face like he was adjusting clay to make a statue of someone else. She watched the mirror, trying to figure it out what was happening. The reflection changed again, but instead of Guy changing as well, the person on it left the mirror, walking out as if it was just a door.

"I know him," she said, not quite believing it.

In front of them was Carl Adler. She didn't like that at all.

"Yes. This is Carl. Carl, this is my new pet, Ariadne."

Carl smiled, but didn't say anything. Ariadne turned to Guy, worried.

"This isn't good."

"I know. He's a work in progress."

"That's not what I mean!"

Guy wasn't even looking at her, focusing his full attention on his friend. The doctor staring proudly at his monster. How long until Frankenstein there turned things ugly?

"Relax, Ari. Can I call you Ari?"

"He's dead, Guy. You can't bring him here… It's not good. I met someone else who… did the same. It almost killed him."

Carl laughed, getting close to her face, sniffing her. Guy just watched, ignoring the arguments with apparent ease.

"She smells like grass," the projection noted, making her step away.

"Yeah, her father doesn't mow the lawn, apparently. Back pain right?"

She stared at him, confused. How did he know that? Carl walked around her, studying her, hand on his chin. His eyes were bright blue, but an unnatural kind, milky. His skin was glassy white, and shone too much. He looked like a store mannequin.

"I've been working on him. I can't make him enough, you know?" Guy said finally, touching Carl's shoulder and making him forget all about Ariadne.

"Enough for what? Guy, this is wrong."

"Why?"

"He's not real."

"Only if you don't believe in it."

"You shouldn't."

"I don't think you get it, Ari. Here, I can talk to him, like everything was right," he said, sadness in his expression. "But not matter how much I work on him, it's still not enough."

"You said you hadn't come here since his death."

"Death? I'm dead?" Carl interrupted, feeling his chest for an invisible wound.

"No, doudou. You aren't. She's just a non believer," he turned to her. "I lied. I come here every night to work on him. I plan to show him to Mr. and Mrs. Adler. A gift for them."

That made her move even further away.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? They need him. I need him. Why not bring him back?"

"Because it's not real."

"Reality is relative," Carl announced, his bright blue eyes starting at her without any spark of life in them. It made her uncomfortable.

"Exactly," Guy agreed. "The brain dictates it all. I can spend my whole life in here, so it becomes my reality."

"Until you're dead from drug overdose," she said, frowning.

"Death is relative," Carl said again, a strange smile in his face.

"I can't watch this."

She turned her back, walking away from the disturbing image of the two men. It was bad enough watching Cobb loose himself, but at least he couldn't control Mal or his guilt. Guy? He was making dolls on purpose, playing God. It was beyond wrong, it was sick.

She needed to get out.

"Where are you going?" he shouted, laughing. "There's nowhere to go. Stay and have fun once in your fucking life!"

Ariadne ignored him, facing a mirror. With one hand she touched, just like in the Paris dream with Cobb, making it break in a thousand little pieces. In its place she created an entryway back to her house. It wasn't enough, of course, but at least it was a familiar place.

She wasn't there long before Guy descended from the upper floor, hands in his pockets. At least Carl was gone.

"You're not as much fun as I thought."

"Sorry to disappoint," she said, sarcasm joining her furious expression.

"I showed you something very personal there. You were rude."

"And you have no idea what the hell you're doing."

"I beg to differ."

"You have no limits."

"Sorry, mom."

She left him, not able to stand his presence any longer. That dream wasn't what she wanted before coming to the club. All she needed was to have fun and forget about Arthur, and now? Well, things turned worse than ever.

She sat on the living room sofa, an old TV in front of her. Not even one minute sitting there, the TV flickered and turned itself on. Guy was inside, dressed like a show host.

"Look, I'm sorry, Ari."

"Don't call me that."

"Ok, Ariadne. I'm sorry. Let's just forget about it and move on. Lots of fun waiting for you."

"Really? Until now it has been only you showing off."

"But you did discover a lot of things, didn't you? Like my abilities."

She crossed her arms, unsure where he was going with that statement.

"I know you wanted to find out them for ton canard."

"My what?"

"That Arthur guy. The guy you want to impress."

"You're crazy."

She got up and turned off the TV, irritated and embarrassed. Unfortunately Guy walked in the room ignoring her bad mood.

"Come on. You thought that only you were going to discover things here? It works both ways."

"I want to leave."

"Good luck with that. You can't die in here. You gonna have to wait for the timer to go off."

She groaned, realizing he was speaking the truth. How stupid of her not think about that before following a crazy teenager into a bizarre dream.

"How long?"

"I have no idea. Might as well have fun waiting and you don't need to that with me, you know."

He made a door appear again, signaling her to go in it.

"You go, I want to be alone for awhile," she said, feeling tired and anxious to be rid of him.

Guy waved at her, smirk on, before the joining the rest of the club outside the so called private room. With him gone she finally let a breath of relief.

Her mind was racing. Another Mal? She wondered what Arthur was going to do when he learned about that. Perhaps give up the mission altogether.

Ariadne left the house, red door closed behind her. The sky was dark and she knew instantly it was going to rain. And so it did. Tired of the memory lane, she destroyed the pavement bellow her, and everything else, the neighborhood houses falling apart like towers of cards. She then made a park, similar to all the favorite parks she knew. It had the trees of Central Park, benches and meadows from Green Park, fountains and lakes from the gardens of Versailles and the extensive fields of the Champs de Mars, in Paris. She admired her work for a time, slowly walking between trees, ignoring the rain. It was a work of art, she thought. A shame that those beautiful parks could never be united in reality.

And that she was enjoying them alone.

The rain stopped. A little farther away, by the Latona Fountain was a man, his back turned from her, hands in his pocket. Of course she knew who he was. His back, his clothes, his manner and posture, it all screamed Arthur.

It wasn't real, she repeated in her mind, before going near him.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said, a gentle smile in his lips.

Nothing could ever be more tempting, just to believe it was truly him.

"Why can't you be real?"

He cleared his throat, briefly looking away from her.

"Well, actually… I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am."

"Prove it."

He chuckled, really stopping to consider her request. Was her mind so good at creating him that she could let a projection pretend that well?

"Eames convinced me to come here and say I'm sorry."

She stared at him, frowning.

"Eames? I'm pretty sure you're not real now."

"I know, I hardly believe myself," he laughed, passing a hand in his neck then putting it back in his pocket.

"Why aren't you shouting at me for being irresponsible, for ignoring what you said about the club, for leaving things like that? I don't even know for how long I'm in here."

"I think it has been twelve hours. I don't know for sure now."

"Still, why are you so calm?"

"I'm not. This is me being very uncomfortable."

She bit her lip. He did look a little unsure. But it was possible it was just the way she wanted him to act.

"How about this… Tell me something about you I don't know," she tried, thinking bitterly it was going to be easy for him if he was actually real.

"Okay. That's smart. My parents died in a car accident when I was five."

There was no hesitation, no sad pause or sigh of sorrow. She was certain her projection of Arthur could at least appear to be a little sad.

"I… I'm sorry."

"No need. It was long time ago. Do you believe me now?"

"Yes."

He finally hesitated, taking his hands off his pockets and getting near her. Instinctively she backed away a little, looking at anywhere but his eyes.

"Ariadne… I'm sorry. I should have let you come with me to Limbo."

"It's okay, Arthur. I get it. It was… Private."

He nodded, pausing before continuing, as if he considered saying something but gave up.

"Thank you. Now let's get out of here," he said instead.

"Yes, please. But how?"

A door appeared, Arthur opened it to her and both went inside. It was similar to a security room, thousands of TV screens with footage from what appeared to be the dreamers. Sitting in the middle of it was a man, concentrated in watching all of them. Their entrance made him turn in his chair while Arthur conjured a pistol.

"You're not supposed to…"

Bang. The man fell dead with a bullet in the middle of his forehead.

"Better close your eyes, this entire dream is going down."

She did what he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just a few explanations: doudou and ton canard. Both are nicknames for loved ones/boyfriends, doudou has no "meaning" in english (so my french teacher says XD), while ton canard is "your duck", lol. So. Yeah. What else? I'm going to explain the drug/club a little more in the next chapter, don't worry.


	7. Leda Atomica Revisited

When she opened her eyes again she knew what to do. Arthur quickly got up from the bed next to her and she saw Eames with a gun in his hand, guarding the door.

"Are we in trouble?" she said to Arthur, taking away the needle and trying to comb her hair from the hours in bed. She felt tired, a headache appearing suddenly. She also felt a little groggy. Her mouth was dry and her skin felt too tight.

"We just ended a dream with hundreds of people inside of it. We're in trouble," was Arthur reply.

Guy was now awake as well, sitting in his bed, recovering and stretching his arms. He looked at them annoyed, rather than angry.

"How the hell did you do that?"

From the look Arthur gave him, Ariadne was certain of what he thought about the guy. And it wasn't pleasant.

"He shot the dreamer," Ariadne explained, receiving a curious look from Nouvelle.

"That's impossible. Nobody dies in there."

"How adorable. In addition of being an idiot, the boy is naïve as well," Eames said seriously, gun pointed at the door and body alert.

"We don't have time to explain to you how the world works, Guy. We're getting out of here. And do us a favor and don't follow us," was Arthur's only answer.

She went next to Eames, while Arthur opened the door so they could leave. Outside, the narrow corridor was, for a brief moment, empty but soon people started to open the colored doors, wanting to know what was happening, confused and still dazed from the drug. They moved quickly, Eames' gun down so they couldn't attract too much attention.

"How did you do it?" she finally asked, too curious to let it wait.

"The employee who watches and supervises the dream doesn't use the drug, for obvious reasons," Arthur said, while watching carefully the corridor. "With the dream collapsing they got no choice but to interrupt the sedative and wake everyone up, it's an emergency system."

"What was that creepy room with the screens, by the way?"

It was Eames turn to answer.

"Why, darling, this is the biggest extraction job ever pulled it off."

Her eyes widen, putting the pieces together.

"They watch everything so they can steal their customers' secrets?"

"Yes. So they can blackmail them later," Arthur said, pressing them forward, they were almost back at the dance floor.

"Someone very smart owns this place," Eames commented, moving behind them. "Get people addicted to this miracle drug and if they try to leave? Well, too late, mate. They have all kinds of dirt on you."

"You sound impressed," she said surprised.

"What can I say? It is very impressing," he insisted, not perturbed by the ethical implications.

She turned to Arthur, realizing what her own presence in there could mean.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know. Yusuf discovered that just a few hours ago," he said and then paused, noticing her worry. "Did you let them see something important?"

"I don't think so… I hope."

They didn't have time to speak anymore, arriving at the main room of the club. She immediately looked for security guards, remembering her training. Luckily the majority of people were shouting and demanding to go back to dream, distracting the guards, who tried to control the crowd with little success. The three of them walked away from the scene in haste, bumping against men and women still slowly awakening.

It was a relief to finally leave the club behind, with its claustrophobic atmosphere. Luckily they made out of there without any confrontation, still Eames and Arthur didn't relax even after they arrived at her hotel. She suspected they risked at lot to come and get her.

Her body felt like stone and when they went inside her room she went directly to the nearest chair, practically falling down on it.

"I'm hungry," she said to them, surprised by the sensation. "I could eat a bear."

"That brings back memories," Eames laughed, "Let me grab you some hangover food, love."

"We can order room service…" she said, but Eames ignored at her and left very quickly. Too quickly, perhaps.

Suddenly she realized she was alone with Arthur, who until now had stared at the windows like a hawk waiting for a prey. Should she thank him? Or be irritated that he didn't give her time alone? Didn't he trust her? Or maybe he was worried?

And why she still cared?

"He's going to check out the street, see if anyone followed us," he said, turning to her slowly. She noticed that he was still tense. And perhaps it wasn't just because of the possible danger.

"Are we in trouble?" she repeated the question. "And not just for interrupting the dream?"

He eyed her carefully and started to move across the place, checking all the rooms on the suite.

"Maybe. Probably. We're competition, in a way. They could think of this move as an attempted sabotage on their business. Let's hope they don't."

"Who are they?"

"All we found out for now is that there are big investors behind Hypnagogia. Questionable ones. People who clearly want more than entertain the bored rich."

He went from the bathroom to the bedroom as he talked, she watched him, feeling more tired by the second. She couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty for putting everyone in danger.

"Arthur, why risk the attention? I mean, I'm glad you and Eames went looking for me, because; let me tell you, Guy is out of his mind. But, really, why not just wait to the dream to end?"

He finished his exploration of the room, returning to the window.

"Guy is out of his mind?"

She noticed his attempt to change the subject, but let it pass for now.

"He's grieving. And," she paused, considering what to tell, "And he's arrogant. He could ruin things."

"I agree. But it's not all, right? You saw something there."

She nodded; glad to be able to talk about it. There was no Cobb this time to ask her to keep a secret.

"He's a forger and… He made Carl. Like Cobb did with Mal, but on purpose."

If Arthur wasn't tense before, he certainly was now. He walked next to her, sitting on an opposite chair, hands together in front of his mouth, staring at her with a strained frown.

"He controls the projection?"

"With the help of the drug, yes. But without, who knows what will happen?"

For a long time nothing was said. She tried to read his expression, to figure it out what he was thinking. Was he going to end the mission?

"It's too late," he announced few minutes later. "Edwards is moving out in three days. It's too late to back down now."

"But…"

"The Adlers won't let me take him out of the mission. They don't trust me. Well, the wife doesn't. We don't have time to think of something else."

"Three days? Why did he suddenly change his plans?"

"I don't know."

She bit her lip, worried about how quickly things made a turn for the worse. It also didn't escape her the fact that they needed the second level done in just two days, a realization that lessened her guilt considerably. Arthur went after her because he needed mazes, not to save her like a shining knight on a white horse. Yet she didn't fully accept that was true. It was strange that she could question that conclusion, even if everything pointed towards it. Part of her, apparently, still believed he considered her more than the architect of the mission.

"What about Limbo? You aren't ready," she said, moving to the edge of the chair to get closer to him. After a brief pause, he leaned in as well, their knees almost touching.

"What do you want me to do?"

It was an honest question, his tone genuinely unsure. She wanted him to do a lot of things; most of them could only complicate their life, so she chose to give him a simple request.

"I want you to talk to me. Whatever appeared down there it may help to talk about it."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired as if he hadn't sleep for days.

"It won't help," he said, voice hoarse, filled with inescapable certainty.

"Why not? And how can you be so sure? Why it's so hard to you to accept that I can help?"

Her plead only made him avoid her eyes. Before she could even try again, Eames opened the door, two bags of cheeseburgers in hands. Arthur quickly composed himself, sitting up and she followed his example, increasing the distance between them. Eames gave them a curious look, before tossing one bag to each. In silence, he sat in the last free chair, crossing his legs and putting his hands over his head. It was probably obvious to him that Arthur and Ariadne were having an intense discussion before, but, for once, Eames didn't comment on it.

"So… The place is clean. Nobody followed us. Yet."

"That's a relief," she said, opening the bag and taking a small bite of the cheeseburger. Normally greasy fast food could not be her choice of meal, but today the smell was enough to make her mouth water. She even ignored her Parisian side, who screamed for a nice salad and maybe some bread and cheese. Real cheese.

"They are probably too busy with their angry customers," Arthur said, passing the bag back to Eames and standing. "I think we can leave now, let you get some rest."

"I rested enough," she said, reluctant to let him go once again without a real conversation. "Maybe I should just go back to the loft to work on the second level."

"Are you sure?"

"Aside from a little headache, I'm fine."

"Alright, but no dreams. We don't how much of the drug it's still in your system."

She nodded, finishing her burger surprising quickly. Eames offered her the other one and she accepted, shocking herself on how much she could eat.

"For a petit fille, you eat a lot," he said, smiling with pride at her eagerness.

"It's the drug," Arthur commented, the tone leaving his distaste of it clear.

"Do you know it?" she asked between bites.

"Yes."

The curtness of the answer made both Eames and her raise their eyebrows. While she at first thought that Yusuf told them about Bu Ran, his short statement gave the impression he knew it about it before and not necessarily as something only related to the club.

"Oh, does that mean that stick-in-the mud Arthur experimented in college, perhaps? Did it involve dream orgies?"

"No."

His lack of detailed responses was the perfect bait to Eames, but Ariadne felt Arthur quickly raise his very high walls. She could tell that no amount of teasing was going to reveal his experience with the drug.

It was better just to end the conversation and left it to a better, more convenient moment.

"Can I just have a bath and a change clothes before we go? As you can see, I have booze and paint all over me."

"Not a bad combination, sometimes, especially in a looker like you, love" Eames commented. "Right, Arthur?"

"Okay. I'm going to wait for you by the hotel reception," Arthur said to her, most of the time he preferred to ignore Eames' voice altogether. "Keep watch for anything strange."

Eames didn't follow him out, instead, turned to her with a serious expression.

"What?" she asked suddenly worried. He hardly was ever grim.

"Did he apologize to you, darling?"

"Yes," she said, but her dissatisfaction probably revealed itself in her tone, because Eames was not impressed.

"Not enough, then."

"It's not that. I made a fool of myself. It's going to take some time before I'm over it."

"I regret my advice to you," he finally admitted. "I gave him too much credit."

"It's okay. I had already made my mind about it," she couldn't help but smile at his concern. Who had thought that Eames had a conscience?

He nodded, a little more relaxed. He got up, dusting his clothes and stretching.

"Do you want me to wait for you here? Protect the damsel from the evils lurking around?"

She laughed a little, also standing, the second cheeseburger now gone.

"I think I can manage being alone for half an hour."

"Where is your gun?"

"I'm not telling you," she smirked, crossing her arms.

"Good girl."

Eames was leaving but then he stopped and turned around.

"And, love, you didn't make a fool of yourself. You were honest; you laid your heart bare. Something that many haven't the courage to do it. You should be proud."

She smiled, nodding.

"Thank you. You're right."

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

He watched the glass doors open in and out, people coming and going, carrying suitcases and bags, holding their lives in two or three pieces of fabric and plastic. Couples, families and single men and women, all looking for a safe haven in an unknown city, a place where they could come back and rest, no matter what they found outside. A hotel could be considered a home, after all.

No sign of the unusual guy speaking for too long on a cell phone or the man sitting at the corner of the room, newspaper covering just enough of his face to let him see people but not the other way around. No car parking across the street with a driver trying hard not to appear suspicious. Also no trace at all of a woman walking her dog around the block over and over again. Not even a dark SUV lurking around, trying to appear intimidating.

He should count himself lucky for not having another Cobol situation. Once in a while it was nice not having tugs hunting him down.

Still, he kept shaking one of his legs, anxious to get out of there. He felt cornered, with no way out. And that had no relation with the layout of the hotel reception. While the hall had two possible escapes routes and Arthur had a good visual advantage over any enemy coming from the elevators or main doors, he felt suffocated and frustrated.

When Yusuf gave him the report about Hypnagogia Arthur made Eames wish come true. He didn't prepare a careful plan or even considered the risks. He simply told them he was going to get her and turned around back to the car without registering anything else. Only after turning the engine on he realized that Eames had followed him, gun in hands.

It was a reckless stupid thing to do.

Yet, he could do it again in a second.

He had the responsibility to know everything. It was his thing. People expected that from him and he let her walk into a trap. Perhaps not an intentional one but dangerous nevertheless. He should've known better. He was too distracted with Edwards and Adler, that he let the club pass.

"Didn't your mother tell you that if you keep frowning, it will stay forever like that?"

He looked up, finding Eames with hands on his pockets standing in front of him. When he didn't received an answer from Arthur, who decided to better spend his time watching the main doors, Eames sat down in a sofa on next to him. It took awhile, but eventually Eames began his usual baiting.

"You can avoid the subject, you know. But don't think I didn't saw your reaction."

"What reaction?"

"The reaction you said that you wouldn't have. The one that involved turning around and doing something stupid."

He said nothing. Eames knew too much already. Arthur chose to let him speculate freely, it didn't really matter.

"You know what else I saw? It wasn't the club doing extraction jobs on people. It was the drug. The Ran thing."

"Bu Ran."

"Yes, that thing. When dear Yusuf said they were using it you lost it. I wonder why…"

"I'm very anti-drugs. Just say no, Eames."

That made him laugh. Perhaps humor was the answer for stopping his insistence in sticking his overly large nose in Arthur's business.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Mens sana in corpore sano," he said, smirk on his lips.

"Latin quotes, how adorable. But, as the French say: bullshit."

He was about to respond when, fortunately, Ariadne ended the conversation by walking out of an elevator, looking much better. Her clothes were new and there were no traces of purple paint in her hair anymore. She didn't seem so tired now. That was a relief; he was worried that she could suffer from the usual after effects of the drug. Apparently aside from the hunger, she was fine.

"We can go now," she said, seeming as anxious as him to move on.

He nodded, getting up, Eames doing the same. On their way out, she touched his arm, looking uncomfortable.

"I left my totem in the loft, right? I can't find it."

It was clear that the absence of the chess piece made her somewhat worried and he didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. At least she was thinking of it.

"You did. It's in your office."

She thanked him absently, appearing less troubled. Their way back to the loft was quiet, with neither Ariadne nor Eames saying much. Usually he liked the silence, but this time he kept watching her by the rearview mirror, trying to be sure that she was okay.

Perhaps he didn't deserve a clear answer on that.

Yusuf greeted them with worry, insisting on taking Ariadne with him so he could make sure she was okay. It made Arthur realize that she had managed in just a few months to win over the whole team. She wasn't just the Architect anymore (not that she ever was only that to him).

Not so long after they arrived, Arthur was preparing alone the equipment for a test run of the first level when Nouvelle appeared. He had an unused cigarette on his mouth and an expression of disdain that was responsible for Arthur's quickly formed annoyance.

"So, thanks for ruining my night," Guy started, walking close to him. "Jealousy is such an ugly thing. You should really work on that."

He said nothing, restraining himself the best he could.

"I covered your ass, by the way. Told them you're just an angry boyfriend. I also paid the bill on your little crazy spree. You should thank me."

He tightened his jaw, gritting his teeth. Again he tried hard to say nothing; thinking it was for the best of the mission not to antagonize the little bastard.

"Where's Ariadne? Is she back here?"

"She's fine."

"Of course she's fine. Why wouldn't she be?"

Arthur faced the boy, crossing his arms. He needed to be calm and leave no room for doubt.

"I hope you understand that if you do anything to jeopardize this mission, and I mean anything, I will shoot you in the head and leave you for dead in Limbo."

Nouvelle looked worried for a second, before shrugging off.

"That's sounds really dangerous," he said, opening a condescending smirk. "But I think of threats like challenges, just so you know."

"No matter what you call it… You'll still turn out brain-dead in the end."

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

Yusuf tested her reactions, her reading comprehension and ability to count. He looked at her with deep worry and maybe with scientific curiosity, while taking notes. It was aggravating in an endearing kind of way. She just really wanted to go back to work and forget about the whole thing.

"I'm really fine, I swear," she tried once more, in vain.

"We need to be sure. There's a reason this drug is called the new opium back in China. I saw a colleague loose his sight, his ability to walk in a straight line. This drug is a slow death."

It didn't feel like death. It didn't feel like anything at all. Which was strange, if she really thought about it.

"Some people feel it's worth it. That dreams are of more value than the flesh and reality. That they're seeking the true meaning of life. But unlike dream sharing, this drug ruins your brain functions slowly. I, for one, think there's nothing philosophical in losing one's ability to know when to stop eating, for example."

"I didn't know that."

"I don't think it's common knowledge here in the West. Still, it's very popular in China and some Eastern countries, most of it because of its religious connotations of helping achieve Nirvana or exploring the soul. Something very tempting to some people."

She said nothing, absorbing the information. She thought of Arthur's reaction to its name and wished more than ever that he would talk to her. In silence, she let Yusuf finish his tests, waiting for him to be satisfied with their results.

Finally he let her go; only advising her to stay away from dreaming sharing for at last a day. She walked back to her office, picking her totem, feeling its weight with relief. It was good to be certain.

In her desk was a pile of folders, full of pictures of what appeared to be Edwards's old house. She wondered how she was going to turn an open field into a maze. The house was small and there were no other buildings in miles besides a barn.

An idea quickly came to her and she stared to draw an aerial view of the corn field, with a pattern similar to ones made by alleged alien visits. It could go on and on, the plants high enough to hide the farm and the pathway quickly becoming confusing to anyone not familiar with her maze.

They could start the dream in the house, protected by long and twisted fields. And because she was the dreamer the maze could change if needed.

She also noticed Arthur handwriting in the back of each picture, detailing his feel of the rooms with quick notes.

"Bare. Abandonment. Doesn't feel like a home. More like a bad memory left on its own for too long," was one of them, talking about the living room. "Must be a way to make it feel more real, more alive."

Ariadne looked for too long at the note. It was a request for her to work on the decoration; paint the walls like they were brand new, put some new furniture. But it also…

It also made her remember the dream of her house. The red door, the grass, the dumb garden gnome. And how it all lacked life, a bad memory left on its own for too long. Why didn't she project anyone there? Her father at least, some friends or even Arthur.

Just a house. Not a home.

Did that mean anything? Was it a good sign that she wasn't going to fall for the same thing that almost doomed Cobb? Or it was bad that she didn't want to be with the people she loved? Yes, people were complicated and she liked to work better with buildings and mazes. But it wasn't like she made a conscious choice of what she wanted to project. Something deep in her didn't want to see them.

Except she did, she was sure of it.

"Can I come in?"

His voice turned her around; his sleeves were rolled up, a look of worry in his face. His eyes went from her face, to her hand then to her drawings, finally going back to the beginning.

"Yeah, sure," she said, dropping the picture with the note back to its pile.

He didn't say anything, preferring to walk towards her table to see what she was working on. Ariadne could only wait and hope. Perhaps he would finally talk to her.

"I gave you the list of possible evidence, didn't I?"

Disappointment wouldn't even begin to describe her feelings.

"You did. Anything else?"

She didn't care how rude that sounded. Apparently neither did Arthur, who gave no sign of being offended.

"Something else, yes," he said, letting the phrase hang in the air for a few seconds. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Yes, now leave me alone if you won't talk to me. Yes, but not right now with you being so distant. Yes, but why do you act like this? Yes, but I want more from you.

No, I'm really not.

He stared at her and a very small part of her wished he could read her thoughts. And say something. But he left with a nod and nothing else happened. If it had been a dream, she would scream in frustration, breaking her pencil in half and kicking furniture. But it wasn't, so she just turned back and got back to work.

**..a.. ..a.. ..a..**

Two days passed quickly, time distorted by preparations, plans and work, so much work. The levels were done, the kicks tested, Edith Piaf loaded in their iPods, the sedative ready. There were no interruptions. As always, last minute problems appeared, but Arthur managed, like he always did.

They waited for Edwards in a diner across the street from his building. They were an odd group and he couldn't help but worry that anyone was going to notice how strange they looked. Eames was flirting with the waitress (and the cook) and distracting them very nicely. Guy kept going to the bathroom and Arthur wanted to strangle him each time. Yusuf promised not to drink too much. Ariadne remained silent, watching the street by the window.

They hadn't talked at all after her attempt in the hotel room. He regretted that and missed her, but also thought it was for the best. He honestly didn't know what to say to her without appearing to be purposely cold. At least silence, he hoped, could be interpreted as unintentionally cold instead.

The traffic outside worsened as the night approached and by eight o'clock his contact sent him a text message, letting him know that "Elvis was in the building". They entered the place by pairs, a few minutes apart from each other. Arthur and Ariadne were the last ones in.

The contact, Seth, lead them to his apartment, just across Edwards'. He had the man's phone taped and they listened as he called for a pizza. Ten minutes later, Eames had intercepted the delivery boy, proclaiming to be Edwards. He took the food and dressed with the uniform Arthur had bought to make the plan work. He was glad that some people were predictable in their choice of meals.

The pizza was delivered with a healthy dose of sedative and then they waited. Fifteen minutes later, they watched on Seth's computer as Edwards fell on his bed, too groggy to stay awake anymore.

There was no time to waste. Arthur grabbed the suitcase, Ariadne nodded to Eames, who opened the man's door like it was made to obey his command. They didn't have enough chairs, so Arthur and Guy sat on the floor, while Seth hooked them up on the machine, noting they had ten hours in there. Ariadne asked something to Yusuf and he was worried for a second but then…

Then… For once in a long time he felt in control. He knew where he was, what he was doing and why. His next move was clear as crystal water, his objective not muddled by feelings and doubts. This was a dream.

This was a safe dream, one he was prepared to deal with. This was his job. This was something he could make it work.

The first level had begun and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin quote Arthur says means "a healthy mind in a healthy body".


	8. Paranoiac Visage

He didn't need to explain anything. Everyone knew their jobs. They parted ways, going to different directions. Ariadne and Yusuf went to the apartment, a few blocks away, while Eames, Nouvelle and him moved towards the dream version of Hypnagogia. Everything there was copy of the real thing, parts of the city of Chicago reconstructed but in convenient pieces, pressed together. Exaggerated but believable.

While in reality the club was nowhere near Edwards' home, here it was a five blocks away. A distance made so eventual projections could take longer to find if trying to chase them. It was sunset and Yusuf made certain that newspapers, clocks and cell phones marked the date of the murder. It was important to reinforce to Edwards' mind that it was that day, so he could reenact exactly what he did or didn't do.

Huge ads for the club decorated buildings, in attempt to draw the man back to Hypnagogia. They had a week in there, a whole week in a loop of the same afternoon and the same night, so he was certain that Edwards was going there eventually. But better sooner than later.

"Arthur, just saw him in block two. He's going in your direction," Ariadne said over their earpiece radio.

"Good news, thanks."

The three of them moved quickly by car, parking near the club. Guy was not impressed by the copy and kept pointing out mistakes every time he could. Eames hissed to Arthur that maybe it was a good idea to shot him right now and pretend it had been a projection's fault.

Arthur was very much tempted.

They waited until it was completely dark and for projections to start going inside the club. They followed them in, keeping their heads down and generally trying not to drawn attention to themselves.

The music was loud, but not as loud as the ticking sound of the clock in his head. Yellow lights flashed with the rhythm of the music and Arthur wondered if he could get drunk in dreams. Of course, he never tried that before. It could mean being out of control in an already wild environment. His work environment even. He vaguely remembered Mal teasing him for not drinking, but that wasn't just in dreams. She told him of a time that Cobb and she went to a dream completely drunk and it was only then he had the courage to kiss her for the first time. But that wasn't the same. Everything pointed towards being possible to get drunk, as the brain would expect that consequence, but maybe the effect was more manageable?

He wondered if Eames had tried and tested to its limits, he had the look of someone who thought of that a long time ago.

"Can I at least dance?" Guy interrupted his musings about alcohol.

"No."

"It was what I did that day," he insisted, snapping his fingers according to the song.

"I don't care," Arthur said, feeling like an old babysitter. "Stay put."

"I need a mirror," Eames said, pointing to what seemed to be the door to the men's room. "I'll be right back."

He nodded, watching the entrance for a sign of Edwards. Guy was to his left, staring at the dance floor like a child looking at a candy shop window. It was easy to forget he was just a teen, an immature rich spoiled one on top of that. Maybe he was too hard on Nouvelle.

While dreaming was just a hobby to Guy, Arthur saw it as opportunity to do great things, to explore minds and earn a living doing what he loved. He wanted to be the best he could. It was a tool to achieve perfection, in a way.

Yet he could still see the similarities between them. At the same age Arthur was meeting Miles, watching his grandfather shake the professor hands' and share a brief hug of old comrades in arms. After that he learned about dream sharing and it was like a whole new door had appeared that opened to a different and better world. A solution not only for his grandfather problems, but for his as well. They stayed in Paris for a long time, the first time he ever stayed in one hotel more than two weeks. He met Cobb and Mal, married just for a few months; they welcomed him into their group of intellectuals, artists and would-be philosophers, deciding to tutor him in the ways of dreaming.

Just like Guy, Arthur could wake up and wish he was back down there. The real world lost its appeal very quickly. Arrogance and naiveté made difficult to see the dangers of loosing oneself. He would gamble away his money on Monte Carlo casinos by day, return to Paris by night and dream for days. Dream of being someone else, someone with a home and everything else. Although he was pretty sure that his dreams were tame compared to Guy's because Arthur was still Arthur even back then.

He was the one to drive everybody home safely, the one that remembered the time and date and bailed them out from jail, knowing just who to talk to or pay up. In way it was because of that fact that the Cobb and Mal kept in touch with him after he basically fled Paris with only a suitcase and another hotel room waiting for him in the other side of the world.

They trusted him and he decided that was his best quality. So he made sure that he was the one who wouldn't lose himself no matter what, the one who was going to shoot anyone in the head if it was necessary. The one who got their backs. The Point Man. Maybe that's why it was so difficult to him to accept Ariadne in his life. She was ruining that carefully constructed image. And he was afraid of liking it.

So, yes, perhaps he shouldn't be so hard on Nouvelle. And, perhaps if he was still the same after all those years, he would. But Nouvelle was a risk, a bump in the road, something that could ruin his job.

So, no, he wasn't going to cut the boy some slack.

As if on cue, Edwards entered the club, his hunched frame and brown messy hair blending into the crowd quickly.

"That's the bastard. I remember him," Guy said, practically fuming.

"Down boy," Eames said, finally joining them, his voice and appearance completely changed.

Arthur considered carefully what was the best course of action with Nouvelle. What would be less problematic? Going with Yusuf and Ariadne to look for evidence or facing Edwards?

In the end Arthur decided that he could plant evidence with ease and seeing Eames' forgery of Carl perhaps could avoid Guy's subconscious to act up. Arthur also trusted his aim better than Ariadne's. If she needed to shoot Nouvelle, he was sure that she would hesitate for too long.

So, Guy had to face now Eames, projecting Carl in a perfect performance, with perhaps the exception of the antagonizing look.

"I can make a better Carl than you," Nouvelle said, like a petulant child.

"You're insulting me, doudou."

Arthur almost regretted his decision then, because Eames went too far, too quickly using the nickname. He could see in the boy's face the flicker of doubt, the desire for to be real. Behind the bravado, there was always insecurity waiting to appear. It made him feel somewhat cruel for putting Guy in that position.

"Eames, let's go. Guy, you stay here. Don't move," he said, deciding it was best to end their interaction quickly.

They moved across the room, dodging Edwards' projections, moving towards the bar, where he was sitting alone.

"Why do you always like to pour salt in the wound?" Arthur asked to Eames, bumping against a woman almost entirely covered in yellow paint.

"What? I just wanted to poke a little fun of the bastard, he can take it."

"He also can make things very difficult to us."

"Fine. I'll play nice."

A man fell suddenly in front of them, also covered in yellow. They passed over him, at long last arriving close to the bar. Arthur stayed a little behind, but close enough to hear the conversation. He hoped that Edwards was innocent.

He watched them closely, once in a while turning his eyes to Guy. Nouvelle was also very interested in the conversation and probably ready to something really harsh if there were any sign of guilt.

Eames started by ordering two drinks and offering a toast to Edwards. Arthur studied him for months and everything seemed to check out. He didn't wanted to socialize, barely looked at anyone in the eyes. Hypnagogia was really not a place someone like him would want to go for enjoyment. He looked like he was waiting for something or someone. But it wasn't Carl, as Eames' offer was turned down with only a shaking head and a polite "no thank you."

"Are you new here? First time can be really intimidating, I know," Eames said, using a very cheerful tone that was a perfectly imitation of Adler's son way of talking. "What's your name? I'm Carl Adler, by the way."

"Yes. I know."

Arthur studied the man's tone and expression. Cleary the name irritated Edwards, but he seemed to make a great effort into disguising his distaste. Politeness or something else?

"You do?" Eames offered his free hand, "Do you work for my father then?"

Edwards ignored his offer, staring at Carl's supposed face now with open annoyance.

"Not anymore I don't."

Eames laughed a little; making sure to the other that the refusal of the handshake hadn't offended him.

"I'm sorry about that. Tough economy, you know. But I'm sure you'll find something else real soon."

Edwards said nothing, turning his head towards the exit, appearing to grow uncomfortable with the conversation. Arthur moved a little, positioning himself between the man and the exit, just to be sure. In doing so he almost bumped into a slim redhead, staining a little his perfectly tailored white shirt with yellow paint from her hands. That annoyed him a little.

"You know what? How about you just let me buy you a drink, that's the least I can do for you," Eames insisted try to pass another glass to him.

"No, thank you. I don't really drink."

"What? For real? Then what are you doing in a bar?"

Edwards passed one hand in his hair, sighing.

"Look, I just what to be left alone, okay?"

"Left alone in this kind of place? Come on, I don't buy that."

Arthur was afraid for a second that Eames had pushed the man too hard, but after a brief pause, Edwards took the glass and drank a little.

"There you go, didn't seemed so hard. Now that's done, what was your name again?"

"James."

"Nice to meet ya, James."

"Can't say the same to you."

"Ah well, that's okay. I understand. So… What brings you here to my favorite place?"

Edwards stared at Eames for too long. And so everyone else did too and for a brief second the music, the dancing and flashes of light all stopped. Arthur instinctively felt the gun on his back, ready to really start running the hell out of that place. But he knew that if anything happened they wouldn't escape. It was too overcrowded; the projections could massacre them in seconds.

"I don't… Know exactly. I was home and…"

Eames laughed, making Arthur even more alert. The sound vibrated trough the huge room, thanks to the complete silence. They were doomed, thanks to Eames. Wonderful.

"It's okay, the mind gets a little fuzzy all the drinking. Especially in here."

Luckily that was sufficient to make all of them go back to their fake lives and Arthur let his hand fall, the gun still safely hidden. Edwards no longer suspecting foul play.

"I guess that's true. Someone… Someone said to me that this place was good," Edwards said, his voice unsure, confused. He drank a little more.

"It is very good. For lots of things. Personally I come here to relax and sleep."

In Eames' place Arthur could have already asked what the club was good for and who had sent Edwards there, but the forger was better at understanding people and how make them talk. Well, make them talk without a bullet to their leg or shoulder, which was Arthur's preferred way of interrogation (Of course, most of times he chose not to depend on interrogations at all, instead finding out everything beforehand).

"I don't sleep, you know, at least I think I don't. Certainly doesn't feel like it." Edwards confessed, rocking his drink slowly. "So I came here to sleep too? I guess. I'm not sure."

Insomnia and Bu Ran. What a terrible combination. One that Arthur knew very well.

"I went once to a clinic, but I can't afford that now. Thanks to your father," he mused, drinking a little more and letting out a bitter short laugh. "But… Someone paid for this."

"Yeah? How nice of this kind person. Who was it? Someone I know?"

"Yes. I think so, yes. But I… I can't remember. How funny."

People again stopped dancing, looking at the scene with blank stares. Arthur wanted to give Eames a few more minutes; he could tell they were in the right path. This new information was very interesting. But it was too dangerous.

"Eames, end this. We can start over this conversation tomorrow," he whispered into his ear intercom. "Go to the parking lot now. Less projections."

He received a slightly nod in response. Arthur went back to Guy, signaling for them to move. They went out of what he called now the pit hole, taking the stairs back to the front of the club. Around them, the projections had gone back to dancing. At least for now, they were safe.

**..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..**

After informing Arthur of Edwards' position, they walked in a quick pace, taking twisting turns and shortcuts through the maze. They both knew the level like the palm of the hands, studying it for months. Its appearance didn't fool them.

While on their way, Ariadne tried to get used to the clock noise banging inside her head like a hammer against a nail. It echoed relentlessly over the city noise, sometimes confusing her. But she didn't regretted convincing Yusuf to use the special sedative on her too. Whenever Arthur liked or not, she was coming with him to Limbo.

"I wonder if I'm getting too addicted to this," Yusuf said, a hint of a smile. "I used to pride myself in staying away from the temptation of participating in jobs."

"What? This is harmless," she teased. "Don't know how you could possibly be afraid of a little dreaming."

"Afraid of dreaming? No, truly not. Afraid of my lack of self control, to be more precise."

They entered a shoe shop, walking by rows of shelves and ignoring costumers. She took a left turn on the last one, going towards a staff-only door. A bright corridor waited for them, leading to the other side of the street, defying the logistics of a normal building.

"You? Out of control? I find that hard to believe. What dark secrets do you keep chemist?"

"Everyone has secrets. Mine are harmless, but very embarrassing. And being embarrassed is terrible. In fewer words: I'm not telling you."

She opened a smirk. After a few minutes (well, what appeared to be minutes) they arrived at block one, where the apartment was. It was a perfect copy of Edwards' home. She made sure that Yusuf had all the details.

"This turned it out very good. Did I miss something?" he asked, both of them in the opposite side of the street, staring at it. Behind them was the same diner from earlier.

"Doesn't seem like it. Let's go."

They waited so the light turned red to cross the street. A mass of projections did the same in the opposite direction. As they passed them, Ariadne had a strange feeling of being watched. She turned her head to the left, then right, but not one projection was watching them. Safely on the other side, she stopped and turned around to find if anybody was following them, as much that could've been unlikely. She didn't find anything and Yusuf seemed completely oblivious to what made her wary.

Not having much choice on the matter, Ariadne shrugged off the sensation and kept moving. Easily they went inside the building, taking the stairs to the right floor. She was glad for Eames' tips on how to open a door without a key; they came in handy to enter to the subject apartment.

She was tired of looking at pictures and long descriptions of the place. At the same time all that work was worth it, because the three room apartment felt and looked completely real. The small kitchen and living room had everything in place from the number of plates in the cabinet to the books supporting a broken table. She was particularly proud of the feel of the sofa, its fabric copied in the tiniest detail.

The time to admire her work (and Yusuf's, of course) passed and both concentrated on finding any evidence of the crime. She searched Edwards' small bedroom, while Yusuf looked in the living room. Outside, night had fallen. She wondered how the rest of team was doing, reenacting the murder scene was risky, but more than anything she wished they had the wrong guy. If he was guilty and they destroyed his mind, Ariadne wasn't sure how she's going to sleep at night after. And worse, she was afraid of the reason: was she going to lose sleep because of lack of guilty for essentially murdering someone or for feeling too much of it? Which one was worse?

A strange realization also came to mind for the first time. Whatever she had to deal it, she was going to do it alone in Paris. Left alone again to glue the pieces of her mind on her own.

No matter how many months they spent together, creating a strange friendship over time, at the end of the job they were going separate ways, no goodbyes or "see you arounds". Was it going to be this way every time until she was an old woman, alone, filled with regrets? She shook her head, opening a small smile for using that phrase. She kind of missed Saito and the air of confidence he held, like every secret was clear to him, every door open.

Last time she heard of him, he was doing very well in Japan, buying a large chunk of Fisher's old company and investing big in his airline. The manipulated heir appeared to be happy too, more free to be himself. He even dared to buy a Ballet Company and took a long vacation in a nice sunny beach. Rumor was he was engaged to a famous ballerina.

Sadly, she was certain that their current job wasn't going to end with the same happy conclusion. Someone was going to lose something either way. Probably her.

"Ariadne, come here. I think I found something," Yusuf called from the other room.

A simple piece of paper. Not the gun, not the picture, their real targets. But a piece of paper with a note written on it. She didn't know exactly what it meant yet. However, it was definitely something.

"Paid a session on Hypnagogia to you. Go tonight, I promise it'll be good," she read out loud. "Someone paid him to go to the club that night? Maybe it was a set up?"

"It doesn't say go and kill the guy, though. It is possible that a friend only wanted him to have fun."

"Maybe. Either way we have to find something else."

She still kept it in her pocket, in case it turned out to be useful. The search resumed with no other findings. The clock in her mind was ticking and tocking, annoying her more than she liked to admit. Thirty minutes outside in reality, six hours on level one, they still had plenty of time. And they had two hours before the dream started again in its never ending loop.

Having nothing else to do for now, she insisted in looking at everything in the three rooms again. Yusuf gave up on his second attempt, sitting on the couch, reading a magazine left in the floor by Edwards, but she kept going.

One hour later she finally came across something interesting, calling Yusuf to see it. Hid inside an old suitcase was a dream journal, describing Edwards's sleep patterns, an activity suggested by a doctor he went to see. The most curious part was that he described lucid dreams where he could see himself doing things but with no control over his actions. Like he was in autopilot. He also felt tired all the time.

"How peculiar," Yusuf commented while also reading a passage of the journal."It's the same handwriting."

"What? You mean from the note?"

"Yes, look at his "d"s and the way he crosses his t's," he explained when she took it out the note.

"He left himself a note? Why?"

The question hanged in the air and Ariadne felt again like they were being watched. Worried, she turned to the bedroom window, peeking over to the street. There was nothing strange out there, but the sensation remained.

"Ariadne, heads up. He's coming home," Arthur's voice rang over her earpiece, before she had any more time to wonder about the strange feeling.

**..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..**

The parking lot didn't offer any good spots to watch the next scene without being noticed, so the two of them climbed the fire stairs of the building, going to its roof.

A sniper rifle waited for them, loaded and ready, just in case they got pinned down by projections. A few minutes later, Eames walked out, still forging Carl's appearance. He stopped by a lamppost, lightening a cigarette.

"Did he learn anything good down there?" Guy asked, sitting on the floor and supporting himself against a wall.

"Nothing yet."

"Really? Because the projections were getting a little jumpy."

"He wasn't after Carl, that's for sure."

Guy said nothing to that, not appearing convinced.

"How about a more direct approach, Arthur?" Eames said via intercom. "Scare the guy a little."

"Do you think that's a good idea? He seemed very suspicious of you."

"Exactly. That means he's hiding something. Maybe a scare could let the cat out of the bag."

He hesitated for a moment, thinking of the risks.

"It's your ass down there. Can you take the heat if things turn for the worse?"

"They won't. You'll see. I got this."

"Do it then, Eames."

"I love it when you order me around," was the sarcastic answer.

He rolled his eyes, positioning himself and preparing the sniper rifle. A few minutes later, Edwards walked out of the club, following exactly the same pattern of day of the murder. Something that could be a good sign or really bad one, depending on the results.

He clearly avoided Eames, with the intention on leaving the club. Wasn't he there to sleep, why leave now?

Eames quickly followed the man, they talked a little and he gave to him what it looked like a business card. Edwards nodded and, intending to leave, turned his back to Eames, who was now touching his shirt, his hands conjuring blood over them like he was painting a canvas. He backed away a little, falling like he had been shot.

"You shot me!" Eames screamed, touching his stomach and filling his hands with blood.

Edwards turned around, confused. He looked at his right hand, where in the place of the business card was a gun. Shocked he immediately put the pistol on the ground, like it was made of fire. He then ran towards Carl's body, falling on his knees and looking at the wound, eyes wide.

"What… What happened? Is that blood? How…"

"You shot me! Why?"

"No, I didn't, I swear!", he grabbed a cell phone out of his pocket, but Eames prevented him from calling anyone, putting a bloody hand on his arm, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Why? Why did you shot me?"

"Please, let go of me, I need to call an ambulance!"

Eames did let go of his arms, but in dying act. He let his body stiffen and pretended to be in agony, until he turned completely still. When Edwards saw that he shook Eames, in an attempt to revive him, when that didn't work, he got up, walking in circles with his hands on his hair and face, looking completely lost and scared. He kept repeating the same phrase over and over again.

"What do I do… Wha-do-I-do? Jesus, what do I do? I can't… This is not happening. This can't. I'm innocent. I'm… I'm innocent. Please, this… This can't be!"

While he walked, his feet bumped onto the gun in the ground. The sight of the weapon made him stop abruptly. Arthur could see from the sniper scope that Edwards' hands were shaking uncontrollably.

After a brief pause and a hesitant look at the body, Edwards started to run. Arthur was quickly on his feet, going downstairs, Guy right behind him.

"Eames, I'm going to follow him. See what he's going to do. In one hour the dream is going to reset. Meet us at the safe house," he said via the radio, leaving the forger on the pavement.

"Have fun," was the man's response.

Edwards was moving fast, bumping against his own subconscious and ignoring everything on his way. Arthur kept a safe distance, but making sure not to lose him in the crowd. He wondered where the man was going. Home? The police? Mexico?

His reaction to Carl's death seemed sincere; he was surprised, shocked and afraid like someone innocent would be. Granted, running wasn't the best course of action, mostly because of his fingertips on the gun. If this was reality, he could had been found guilty in a heartbeat. But in the dream it just appeared like a thing someone scared could do.

So Arthur was leaning towards innocent for the time being.

At block two it was clear Edwards was going to take shelter at his home, so he warned Ariadne, in case they were still in the apartment. In just thirty dream minutes it was going to be afternoon again, the day of the murder restarting. They had to move fast.

When they arrived at his street Arthur saw Yusuf and Ariadne; sitting inside the same diner they waited Edwards in reality. After a brief nod at their direction, he continued towards the side of the building, using the fire escape to go Edwards's floor, Guy still following him in a determined pace.

They settled just next to his bedroom window, staying outside his view. The man looked even more troubled, going to the bathroom and desperately trying to clean the blood on his hands in the sink.

"Aren't we going to something?" Guy whispered angry. "I can't take this anymore!"

"No. We watch."

"Watch what? Him pretending to be innocent?"

"Why would he pretend? He's alone."

Guy let a frustrated groan, striding pass Arthur in a flash of anger and climbing the window. Irritated beyond belief, Arthur followed him, but it was too late, Guy had grabbed Edwards by his collar and pinned him against the wall.

"Confess you fucking bastard! You did it! You deserve to die!" he shouted right to the man's face, shaking him with force. "Fucking murder!"

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Let me go, I don't have any money!"

Arthur could almost feel the whole city pausing and looking towards their location, ready to attack. In a quick decision he grabbed Guy and threw him at the bed then head butting Edwards with back of his gun, knocking him out temporally.

He checked Edwards's vitals just to be sure and then turned to Guy, fuming. Arthur's gun was already pointed at his forehead and for a brief second he was going to pull the trigger and forget all about Adler's reaction to losing the boy in Limbo.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you want to kill us all and ruin this mission? Are you that self-centered?"

"You are falling for his trick!"

"I should put a bullet in your head."

"Listen to me! Check his pockets and you'll see that I'm right!"

"Why?"

"I felt something in them."

He eyed Guy carefully, before doing it. While still keeping an eye on Nouvelle, Arthur felt Edwards' pockets. It was true; there was something there.

A gun.

**..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..**

When Arthur and Guy appeared in the diner Ariadne knew instantly that something was wrong. Arthur was holding a gun while also carrying another in his belt, a look of determination in his face. Yusuf and she got up, approaching them with curiosity. Last time she saw the two of them, Edwards was running into the building.

"What happened?"

"He's guilty, that's what happened!" Guy said, gesturing to the gun in Arthur's hand.

"Is it true?" she asked Arthur, watching as he turned his intense gaze to her. "Do you have the proof?"

"Not exactly," was his only answer before moving to the kitchen of the dinner.

They all followed him, walking between stoves and cooks turning frying pans over high flames. Narrow stairs took them to the upper level of the dinner and then to an ample and empty room with only an elevator in the middle of it, which they quickly took.

At the top floor of the building was their safe house, with the dream equipment ready and where the kick was going to take place. Eames was waiting for them, sitting in one of the chairs, looking bored.

"How was the little chase?" he asked, watching all of them sit as well, except Guy, who refused. "Found anything?"

"He had this with him," he said, lifting the gun. "Ariadne, did you two found something else?"

She didn't answer, instead focusing on the gun, trying to decide what think of that. She hoped against hope he was innocent and wasn't really ready to face the other possibility.

"Well, nothing conclusive," Yusuf told them after noticing her lack of answer. "But very interesting nevertheless."

"He kept a dream journal," she explained, remembering herself.

"That's interesting, can I see it?" Eames asked and she gave him the book.

While he looked over some pages, Ariadne kept talking.

"He describes lucid dreaming a lot. He felt like he wasn't sleeping at all, feeling tired all the time."

"He told something like that to Eames," Arthur nodded. "Saying someone suggested the club to him."

That made she raise her eyebrow.

"Well, that's strange because he left a note to himself, telling that."

Guy, who had not sat down and kept pacing around them, finally lost his patience.

"Who fucking cares about a stupid note? He had the gun with him! He shot Carl! It's done. It's over. He's the one. Stop talking already and do something about it."

"Stay calm," Arthur warned him. "We don't know that yet."

"What else do you need? Why could he have a gun with him? Are you out of your mind?"

"Yes, clearly Arthur is the crazy one," Eames said, rolling his eyes, still focused on reading. "Especially for not trusting a gun conveniently appearing out of nowhere."

"Out of nowhere? What the hell you're talking about? It was in his pocket!"

Eames closed the journal, passing back to Ariadne. She watched with worry as the forger turned to Guy with a calm expression.

"I know forgery, boy. You planted this gun. And what a sloppy job you did of that."

"I did not. Why could I even…"

"Because you want Edwards to be guilty. You want to see the murder suffer. If Edwards is innocent, well, that complicates things, doesn't? You won't have someone to blame, someone to release upon all that anger and sadness. No eye for an eye. Just a villain that will never be found and poor Carl will never have justice. Tragic, really."

Ariadne held her breath, waiting for Guy reaction to Eames' speech. Arthur was still holding the gun, staring at it with quiet determination. Yusuf looked visibly uncomfortable. Nouvelle ignored them all and kept looking at the forger, a mix of anger and disbelief on his face.

"He's guilty," he simply said, walking around them again, stopping next to her chair, his voice full of hatred and anger. "I just know it. Carl's mother knows it too. This is all bullshit, you with… With all your Sherlock shit, trying to clear him. I want his brain melt, burned. I want him drooling and rotting in a mental house somewhere. And you won't stop that from happening."

In a flash of instant he grabbed Ariadne, pulling her out of her chair and close to him. She felt a cold barrel against her jaw and suddenly all the team was up and alert, guns ready. There was no fear, just a resounding "Jesus, what the hell" in her mind mixed with the sound the clock.

"Make a move and Ari here will go to a nice trip to Limbo." Guy screamed, pushing the gun harder against her.

Arthur was frozen; Yusuf kept looking at each one back and forth, a hand on his forehead. Only Eames looked unfazed, gun towards Nouvelle head.

"Not if I shoot your slimy face before."

"Go ahead and try," the man laughed. "I can't die."

"What?" Ariadne muttered, more worried about that than the possibility of Limbo. "How?"

"Bu Ran. Very useful, isn't?" he turned to Arthur, who looked strangely hesitant at the situation. "What? Did you think that little threat of yours wasn't going to make me take precautions?"

"That's not possible. I checked all the needles, it simply…" Yusuf said, but Guy didn't let him even finish.

"Yeah, well, when little Ari asked for you to put the special formula on hers, I took advantage and put something for me too. So, I can't die. What are you going to do now, Arthur?"

"What do you want?" Arthur said, the grip on his gun tight and a deep frown marking his face.

"Arthur… It's fine. I can come back," she said, ignoring Guy's grip on her arms. "It's alright."

"I don't think he wants to take the risk of losing his little architect, right Arthur?" Guy snarled in her ear.

"What do you want?"

"I want you do what you were paid to do. I want you to destroy this guy mind, right now."

She looked at Arthur, searching his face for a clue of what he was thinking. She only found a flicker of doubt and a flash of fear in his eyes before he pulled the trigger.


	9. Swans Reflecting Elephants

The muzzle velocity of a M9 gun was 354 meters per second. It only took half a millisecond to pull a trigger. Guy eyes focused on his right for just about the same time. By then all possibilities had crossed Arthur's mind and with them the emotions attached to each.

Doubt.

Could he do it?

Fear.

Was he going to miss?

Conviction.

No. He wasn't. He could do it. He had to.

In a cold and hard decision, one that didn't leave room for mistake, Arthur pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across Ariadne's face and scarf as the bullet hit Nouvelle's right hand and left shoulder, just barely avoiding Ariadne's ear, the hit was followed by a scream and a gun dropping on the floor.

He only registered his success after hearing the sound of his own heart calming, giving room for the professional attitude to come back in full force. He signaled to Ariadne, indicating the gun on the floor, which she took it before going back to the same tense position.

"You shot my hand!" Guy screamed holding his bleeding hand with the good one. "You fucking shot my hand!"

"Glad you noticed. Now that I have your attention and Ariadne got your gun, let me tell you something…"

He walked near them, standing in front of Guy, who was now crouching on the floor, moaning with pain. Ariadne spared him a glance, but Arthur didn't want to look at her right now. He had to do something before he could do that.

"You don't ever threaten my team. You don't get in the way of my job. You can't die? I don't care. Pain works fine for me."

Nouvelle grunted something, probably another curse. Arthur crouched to get closer to him, his gun pointing at his knee, threatening.

"I'm taking you out of this mission. You're going to stay here in this level, bleeding in the floor, waiting for the timer to go off."

Another grunt.

"Eames, cuff him."

He got up, observing while Eames grabbed Guy by the shoulder and locked him on one of the arms of a chair. Nouvelle glared at Arthur, most of his shirt was covered in blood and his hands were still together, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Don't think I'm gonna just wait here like…"

Eames also put a gag over his mouth.

"Ah, beautiful silence at last," the forger commented, giving the boy a pat on the damaged shoulder.

Arthur finally let his eyes wander to her. Ariadne was still staring at him, blood on her white scarf and blushed cheeks, hands hanging in an awkward way, like she forgot completely what do with them. He walked to her, taking the gun out of her hand gently.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't warned you before…" he said, the gun on his hands feeling heavier and heavier by the second. "I had to."

"I'm glad you did it," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It's just…"

The confusion in her eyes scared him. He didn't doubt that she could handle the pressure of that type of situation, but what would she think of a man that risked her life apparently so easy?

"Don't you trust my aim?" he joked weakly. "I'm the fastest drawn on this side of Chicago."

She let a small smile grace her lips for second. He almost reached for her jaw to offer some form of comfort and really feel that she was there still and safe. As much safe she could anyway.

"The real or the dream one?"

"Both. I'm that good."

She laughed, appearing less tense and also moving a little bit forward, making him want even more to touch her face. He never felt a fear so intense than the one he felt on seeing a gun pointed at her. It was a strange sensation, of feeling completely out of control of a situation, for a brief moment he didn't know what to do or how to save her. And then…

And Arthur realized that he could never ever let something harm her.

"Are you okay?" he asked her again. He wanted to be sure, because nothing else mattered.

"Yes. And… I wasn't really afraid," she said, pulling her hair behind her ear. "You should know. Limbo really doesn't scare me."

"Yes. About that…"

"Don't start. I'm going and that's final. I don't care what you think; I don't care if you are afraid I'm going to see something… I can't let you go alone. So, don't even try to start."

He chuckled, thinking of how adorable she was. Even with blood on her, a crazy mission waiting for them and who knows what else, she was just… So incredible adorable.

"Okay. You win. We're going to have to time it right because of you being the dreamer in the second level, but… Okay."

"Really? That easy?"

"I don't I have a choice, not really."

"For real this time? No last minute change of mind, no plans of leaving me behind?"

He hesitated for a second, before smiling, making her punch him light in the shoulder.

"I just want to make sure that…" he began, taking a deep breath. "Well, that we all make out of this."

"Me too."

Silence fell between them and Ariadne moved a little bit closer, just enough for him to hold his breath and test his self-control. He needed space. Quick.

"Ariadne…" he cleared his throat. "Your scarf has blood on it."

She looked at it, surprised at finding him right.

"I'm glad this is a dream. I can't even image what a nightmare is cleaning that."

"Actually I have some good tips…"

"Of course, you do," she laughed, half-serious.

"Are you two done with the flirting?" Eames said, remembering Arthur where they were and who was also there besides Ariadne. "It's extremely cute, but we are on a tight schedule."

He cleared his throat and Ariadne gave a short laugh, neither seemed to like Eames tease very much. Maybe because it hit too close to home.

"Right. He's right, for once," Arthur said, moving away from her and sitting in one of the chairs. "Where were we?"

She gave him a short look, one he didn't understand.

"I think I was pissing my pants," Yusuf commented, also sitting. "But before that, we were analyzing Edwards' note."

"He didn't seem to realize who sent him the note. And got really testy about it too," Eames said, dream journal back in his hands. "I'm going to make our little crazy friend here ecstatic, but in my professional opinion Edwards is hiding something."

"His reaction to Carl's being shot seemed real enough," Arthur interjected, somewhat surprised by Eames' opinion. "Maybe he's hiding something, but that doesn't necessary mean it has to do with the murder."

"I think is. Denial can be a very powerful thing. Look at yourself."

"Funny," Arthur said, crossing his arms and looking at the time. "I still don't think anyone can fool us here. Not unless they knew they're dreaming."

"Well, maybe he's not trying to fool us. Maybe he's trying to lie to himself?" Ariadne suggested, still standing. She took off the scarf. "The best lie is the one you believe in it."

"That requires a deep delusional mind," Yusuf said, giving Guy a sideway glance."And that's really not the type of mind I want to visit much."

"Or maybe a real smart one. One that can fool a jury," Eames countered.

Arthur wasn't convinced yet.

"This is still all speculation. We don't have the gun; we don't have the missing picture. And above that, he didn't seem all that interested in Carl. All we have is a strange note and sleep problems. That means nothing. I suggest we do this again. He's going to wake up soon, let's try a different approach."

"Like what?" Ariadne asked, slowing cleaning her face of blood with the still white part of her scarf.

"How about the Lawyer Routine?" Eames suggested, tossing the journal on one of the unoccupied chairs.

"What's that?"

"We arrest the subject, threat him, pressuring him with prison, then…" Arthur said, thinking it was a good idea.

"Then his lawyer comes, saving the day," Eames finished.

"Do you think he's going to confess to a lawyer?" Yusuf asked. "Why? When he apparently doesn't even want to admit to himself?"

"Well, the lawyer brings things to the surface; he becomes a protector figure, much like Mr. Charles, so the subject trusts him implicitly. He also has a good reason to ask about Edwards's involvement and question his motives without appearing odd. It may be our best shot for now."

"What about the projections? Won't they try to protect Edwards from the police?" Ariadne said, hanging her dirty scarf on a chair.

"Not if we do this right."

 

**..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..**

Ariadne watched as the dinner's television reported Carl's fake murder. The waitress and the cook heard it as well, looking at the screen with shocked expressions. She started to notice that nearly all projections were most of the time eerie silent, when not playing a big "part" on the dream. Even when talking, they were just making noise. It was a funny and strange reminder that in our heads we were always the center of the universe and everyone else was just background noise.

Finally Edwards' picture appeared on the TV, leading to a chain reaction more quickly than Ariadne anticipated. It seemed that Eames was right: the man was feeling guilty if not for the real murder, at least for witnessing and running on the day before. Following Eames theory his guilty allowed the projections not doubt the news put by Yusuf, but instead embrace like the truth.

Sometimes dream logic gave her a headache.

Sirens grew louder and swiftly police cars appeared, stopping in front of the man's apartment building, grabbing the attention of most people in the street. Ariadne watched as a few projections dressed as cops went inside the place, guns in their hands. In a slower pace Arthur and Eames also got out of the one the cars, playing their part as detectives on the case.

Soon Edwards was out, head down, grabbed by his arms and put inside the police's car without any struggle.

She left two dollars on the table (realizing a second later it was not needed) and exited the dinner, going inside Yusuf's van. In the backseat Guy was moaning, still handcuffed and gagged. She shot him a quick look, angry with his earlier stunt. Grief and youth could only justify so much.

Yusuf started the car, following the police at a safe distance. In her opinion Arthur's and Eames' plan sounded too risky. While the entire city was a maze, the police station was not a very deep one. It could only take a few minutes to solve it. Besides, it was going to be full of policemen, armed and ready to kill them. Still, she knew they had little choice.

The van stopped in front of the station and Ariadne got out, receiving a good luck from Yusuf. Someone had to stay behind to not only make sure Guy didn't do anything else stupid, but to keep the engine running if they needed a quick escape.

She went inside; using a fake ID that Eames had conjured for her. She really wasn't the best person to pretend to be a lawyer, her knowledge of the profession started with "Objection" and ended with "Overruled". It was sad that so many nights watching TV shows were really proved to be wasted time.

Yet, luckily, nobody questioned her on her skills. All she had to do was to walk like she belonged in there, ordered some people around, and everybody believed her.

Perhaps Edwards' also had only TV as his source too.

They let her in on the interrogation room, where Eames was questioning the very scared-looking man. She found Arthur on the other side of a two-away mirror, watching their conversation.

"He's the bad cop?" she asked, approaching him.

"Something like that. Are you ready?"

"Not really," she snorted. "I mean… What if I say the wrong thing?"

"Then we all wake up. And I'll go for a long vacation. Probably in the Chicago River. With cement shoes."

"Thanks. No pressure then."

"I'm exaggerating," he noted with a small smile. "A little. You'll be fine, you make…"

"I make people talk."

"You also don't look threatening."

"You're saying I'm a fragile little girl?" she raised an eyebrow, half-joking.

"You know I don't mean like that. What I mean is… You'll make him comfortable enough to speak. He'll trust you because you are honest, sincere and a genuinely good person. You'll know just the right thing to say,"

She knew what he had meant. Still, it was nice hearing him say out loud.

"Will I ever know the right thing to say to you?"

The question obviously caught him off guard, yet he didn't try to change the subject for once.

"You already do," he finally said, avoiding her eyes and focusing on the mirror where Edwards was asking for water. "We're friends aren't we?"

"Yes. I guess we are," she watched as Eames laughed at the man, denying him the glass. "Arthur… I didn't thank you for earlier. So… Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She sighed, wishing she had more courage to speak more.

"I think is time for me to go in there and save the day."

Arthur nodded and she left the room, going to the other side of the mirror. Eames was still pressuring Edwards into confessing. The man was sweating and looked pale. She wished she knew if it was only confusion and not guilt overwhelming him.

She walked in the middle of an answer from Edwards, with Eames giving her a wink.

"Mr. Edwards, please stop talking. They can't make you say anything. I'm here to represent you. And you," she turned to Eames, trying hard to stay in character. "Stop harassing my client and leave now."

"Fine, lady. He's all ours."

When the door closed, she sat on a chair opposite from her "client." Only a frail table was between them. Edwards was supporting his head with his hands, closed together by the handcuffs. She crossed her legs and tried to appear professional and ready.

"I… I didn't ask for a lawyer. I don't have the money."

"The state provides everyone with one. Don't worry; you won't have to pay me. Now… Do you need anything? Water?"

He nodded. She got up and took a jar and a glass left in by Eames and passed to him. With difficulty he drank it all.

"Thank you."

"I'm Sam, by the way. Samantha Holloway."

"Nice to meet you. I wish I could shake your hand Miss. Holloway, but… Well, I can't right now."

"I am sorry for the handcuffs. But, for now, the police won't take them away."

He nodded slowly, hiding his hands bellow the table.

"So… They said to me that you are the prime suspect in Carl Adler's murder. The boy was shot just last night and someone saw you running scared away from there. Is that true?"

His eyes went pass her and he readjusted his body in the chair, the question making him uncomfortable.

"I… No."

"No? Mr. Edwards, you need to tell me truth. I can't prove your innocence if I don't have the facts right," she tried, but he just recoiled more. "And if you are not innocent, I'm sure it was accident. Either way, I can help you."

"I… Okay. Yeah. I was there… I ran away."

"Why?"

"Because… Because that was a dead body in front of me! Why else?"

"Did you saw someone else?"

"I… Yes. I think that I did. He's probably the one who did it."

She could almost feel Arthur deep gaze, noticing every little gesture and word, anxious for more answers. Ariadne could also imagine Eames whispering into her ear: "You're giving him excuses, darling. Leading him into a convenient lie."

"So you didn't shoot him?"

"No! Of course not! It was someone else!"

"Why didn't you call for an ambulance?"

"I… I was scared. But I tried… I think I did. I don't remember…"

She could see he was slipping away from her. He kept shaking his leg and avoiding her eyes. She changed her tone a little, trying to be gentler.

"Can you describe to me what you do remember? It's important to focus on details so we can help you. Why were you at that dream club? Can you remember that?"

"Someone paid me to go, so I could sleep."

"Who?"

"I… A friend."

"Okay. So, you left the club. What then?"

"I don't remember. It's all very confusing, I think I went home, but I know I didn't. I saw the guy fall and… Die. And then… I ran."

Was he confusing dream with reality? His testimony in the real world months after the murder made him sound so calm and sure… It was like she was talking to a different person. Perhaps by the time the police pointed him out as suspect, he already had prepared a story?

"And who was the other person you saw?"

Silence. His hands went to his face, covering it, she heard him suppress a sob.

"Mr. Edwards, please. If you can tell me anything about this man or woman, maybe we can convince the police to let you go. Can you describe the person to me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just so confused. God, how did I end up in this mess?" he breathed hard. "I was in the club and then… Then he was falling in front of me… And… I just kept running. I don't remember anything else."

"Okay. That's okay. Maybe it will come to you later. The police didn't find the gun used in the crime. Did you saw it?"

There was another pause, this time he didn't look away. She could see that he knew the answer already. He stopped shaking.

"No."

It was a lie, that much was clear. But unlike the first one, he appeared to be more confident that she would believe in it.

"You said you were in front of the victim, are you sure that you didn't see the gun?"

"No. I already told you: I heard the gunshot and I just ran the other way."

"Did you talk to Carl Adler before the murder?"

"Yes. I asked him if his father was enjoying his new hotel in Aruba."

That was new information. Which could mean she was on the right track.

"You were bitter because you're fired."

"Yes."

"The persecution could use this against you. We need something stronger that could prove your innocence."

"How about the fact that he was mugged? I'm not a thief; I don't need any more money."

That made her pause. He was definitely thinking of the real murder night. Not only that, but the way he said sounded like a rehashed speech. Sobbing one minute, calm and composed the other? Also, he suddenly wasn't so poor?

"How do you know he was mugged? The police didn't write that in the report."

Something changed in him immediately, he looked away from her. His leg was shaking again. Gone was the air of certainty, in its place was now a man close to tears.

"No? I thought… I was sure that…"

She then tried something a little more radical. She extended her arm towards him and put one hand over his hands, trying to calm him and show him her sympathy.

"If you did do it, you have to tell me. I will defend you in court no matter what, but I need to know the truth."

He looked at her, his eyes searching her face for something. From scared to calm and back, Edwards's appeared more tired than ever. He always had dark circles under his eyes, but now they were deeper, like it was too hard to keep awake or keep a secret hidden.

"I… I don't know," he admitted, dropping his head in defeat. "Maybe I did? Sometimes I know I did. Sometimes I just… It's like I'm watching a movie, like I'm not in control. The gun… It's in my hands and then is not. I think I'm crazy. Can… Can you help me? P-Please? I just want to sleep. Just for a few minutes…"

"I'm sorry, but we need to keep going for now," she tightened her grip on his hands, to keep him focused. "You said that gun was in your hands and then it wasn't?"

"Yes… I ran and the gun was in my hand and… I threw away, inside a truck. A garbage truck, it got crushed by the machine... I forgot that. I thought it was dream… Like a nightmare. But I did throw away, didn't I? So it couldn't be found."

She looked at the mirror. It seemed that Guy was right: Edwards was the murderer. She didn't ask any more questions for a minute or so, in an effort to keep herself calm. It was the news she didn't want to hear. After a deep breath, she hid those thoughts at the back of her mind for now.

"What about the picture? What did you do with it?"

"Picture?"

"The one with Carl and his parents on the beach."

"Oh. That. I… I don't know. I looked at it and made me mad. I ripped apart, threw on the river. I remember now. I was angry, but I'm never angry. I just deal with things… I never…"

Something clicked in his mind and he was back at facing her. His whole body was tense, a deep frown forming.

"I… I think I did it. I… did it. God…"

"Did what?"

He stared at her, mouth open.

"I murdered him. I shot him. It didn't felt me… I didn't think. I just shot him, I saw him in the club and I was so… So angry. I shouted at him, he left but it wasn't enough, I had to follow him. Why did I do it? I would never hurt anybody! It isn't fair! I thought it was over! No more thinking of this! I never wanted this! He made me do it."

His hands were trembling underneath hers and she was, frankly, a little off put by his display of distress. His speech was disorienting, his voice trembling and after it he kept pleading for her help. She didn't know what to do and, most of all, if she felt pity for him now, how could she let Arthur destroy his mind?

Before she could decide on her own feelings on the matter, the door opened. Arthur and Eames grabbed Edwards quickly and she could only follow them. The police station was now empty, no projections stood on their away. They put Edwards in the back of a police van; he sat on the bench and was chained to the floor. Meanwhile Ariadne walked to Yusuf's car, entering and explaining to him (and Guy) what had happened.

In silence, they went back to the safe house, drugging Edwards to sleep on the way. Guy, although pale, also looked pretty proud of himself.

Nobody said a thing while Arthur hooked the man on the PASIV. Nobody seemed to want to bring the issue to the surface. It was easier just to ignore it, pretend that what was going to happen next was just a regular job. She only dared to speak after she was lying on her chair, next to Arthur. It felt wrong not to voice her doubts before it was too late.

"Are we really going to do this?"

He looked at her, a trace of regret forming.

"I made a promise," was his apology.

"When did you start being sentimental on the job?" Eames commented, while pulling his sleeve up. "If you do this, do it because of the money. Anything else is asking for trouble."

But Arthur ignored him, instead focusing on her.

"I asked you then… You said you trusted me."

"I did… I do."

"Then you know I tried. We tried. We did more than anyone else would in the same situation. It's over."

She nodded, letting a sigh of disappointment escape from her lips. She lay back on the chair, waiting for Yusuf to start the machine.

 

**..aa.. ..aa.. ..aa..**

 

The three of them were near the front door. An opened window let a gust of wind inside. Outside, a hot day of summer awaited them. The floorboards cracked below his feet. He looked around the room.

Something was wrong.

"Where's Edwards?" he asked, mind racing.

The plan was the subject to appear inside the house with them, instead the man was gone. With a hand on his gun holster, Arthur walked to the living room, then to the kitchen. Empty. The feel of the house was wrong. Ariadne's replica was perfect, from the first to the second floor; all of it looked like a place someone was living in it, each detail enhancing the lie. But all the same, it felt like he had made a mistake somewhere along the way. Missed a clue or a sign.

"He's not on the second floor," Eames said, descending from the stairs.

"He's outside," Ariadne announced, looking over the window, pushing back the yellow colored curtain. "But…"

"What?"

"I… There are two of them."

"Projections?"

He walked towards her, looking out as well.

"No… Two Edwards."

She was wrong.

"Not two. More."

He counted five, but then another showed up. And then another. In a few seconds the house was surrounded. All them wearing the same worn out clothes and a blank expression on their faces. They didn't do anything beside watch the house, like strange phantoms waiting for them to get out. Or wanting to keep them inside.

He had never seen something like this.

"Well, this is strangely new." Eames said, going to another window, gun already on hands.

"Arthur?" Ariadne voice ringed beside him. "How is this possible?"

He searched his mind for an explanation. Police records, school records, emails, passwords, parking tickets, medical records... Anything to explain what the hell was happening. Was he a forger? Did he know all along he was dreaming? For how long? Was he was controlling everything? Did anyone ever saw anything like that?

"I don't know."

"Should we shoot them?" Eames said.

"All of them?" Ariadne replied, gripping the curtain in a nervous gesture. "What if one them is the real Edwards?"

Ariadne and Eames kept speculating on what to do, but Arthur tried to focus on why the hell something like this was happening. First, Edwards denied anything to do with Carl, he didn't seem anger at Adler or tried to offend him in the club, his reaction to the shooting was confusion, not guilt. Then he remembered killing Carl and the confession brought himself to tears? Maybe Yusuf had been right, Edwards was out of his mind.

"I'm going out," he finally said, stopping their discussion.

"What? Why?"

"Do you want to be ripped apart, darling?" Eames agreed.

"Don't worry. I have a gun," he argued, opening the front door.

He stepped outside, carrying his gun in one hand, pointing to the floor. The projections didn't react to his presence. He waved to the nearest one, making it turn its head slowly, facing Arthur.

"Edwards?" Arthur asked.

The projection disappeared. Arthur looked at the rest of the farm, noticing the absolute silence. No sound of birds or far away cars, no horses, cows or chicken, just the wind blowing. He went to another projection, asking the same question. Again, it simply disappeared. By now, Ariadne and Eames were out too, but staying close to the house, guns ready.

Losing a subject inside a dream wasn't unheard of; usually it happened when Point Man didn't do his job and forgot something about the person's routine or tastes. Sometimes it happened because of the dreamer or the architect, planning the level wrong or forgetting details, a door or a corridor leading to the wrong direction.

But never like this, with strange doubles appearing out of nowhere.

"They seem harmless at least," he commented back to others. "For now."

"But still very creepy," Ariadne said.

Suddenly a sound of a shovel working its way inside the earth made him turn fast. Near the barn and the leaking water tower, was another Edwards, digging with strange determination.

Arthur signaled to Eames and the two of them got near the man. By then, they could see what he was doing: he was digging what appeared to be a grave. His face was wet not only with sweat but tears as well, he was pale and his hands tried hard to keep working while trembling.

Eames gave Arthur a worried glance, probably more than a little freak out by now.

"Edwards?" Arthur repeated the question.

There was no answer; it was like he couldn't see them. Arthur got closer, touching the man slightly on the shoulder. His reaction was to yank himself away violently, falling backwards and dropping the shovel on the ground. But still he didn't make eye contact.

"Allow me," Eames whispered to Arthur, changing his appearance.

By the time he crouched near Edwards, Eames had taken the appearance of the man's mother. In a soothing tone, he asked what was wrong, trying to touch his hands carefully. When Edwards saw that, his eyes widen and he tried to get away, crawling backwards with fear.

"You… You're dead… What… Leave me alone!"

"No, sweetie, it's okay. I'm here. I'm not dead…"

"No! No! You were dead! Leave me alone!"

Eames tried once more to reach him, but Arthur heard Ariadne shouting just in time to see that the projections were all turning their heads to the scene, slowly moving towards them. Arthur pulled Eames back, while Edwards got up and ran inside the barn.

"Rather twitchy fellow, ain't he?" Eames said, annoyed with the failure.

"At least we found him. If that's really him…"

"Guys… Can we go back to the house, now?" Ariadne shouted at them, reminding him of the projections. "I think they woke up or something."

It was true; they were all looking at them, tilting their heads slightly in synchronized movements. Arthur didn't know what bother him the most: the fact that they were watching his every move or that they could all jump at him exactly at the same time. Slowly Eames and he went back to the house, Ariadne closing the door behind them. Not that could do much good in face of an angry mob of projections.

"What the hell is happening?" Ariadne asked, gesturing to him and then to the window.

"Crazy shit it's happening, darling. I say we wake up and start over."

"It's too soon, Yusuf's kick is still hours away," Arthur said, still watching the window.

"Okay, then we deal with it… It must have an explanation, right? This isn't random, there's reason. Like… Maybe..." Ariadne tried, passing a hand in her hair.

"He's crazy. That's a good reason," Eames said.

"Maybe he was in denial about the murder for so long that… Something snapped inside him?"

"Still, there's no way he could change the projections appearances'," Arthur argued, suddenly feeling trapped. "For that to happen, he must be in control of the dream."

"I say we shoot him, send him to Limbo and hope for the best. Adler will have to be satisfied with a coma."

Arthur sat on the third step of the stairs, on hand holding his gun, the other on his forehead. He needed to think, to stay calm, form a plan. Ariadne and Eames' chatter was too much.

"Maybe we could talk to him more… Gently."

"More gently than with his dear mother? I don't think so, love. Let's just grab him out of that barn…"

"I think I said that I want to be left alone."

All three heads turned to the living room door where Edwards now stood, hands crossed, dressed in a yellow suit and a gun hoisted in his belt. That was not the same Edwards that were digging outside, nor the one Ariadne interrogated, not even the one that run away from the crime scene. The general appearance was the same, but the way he stood there, calm and with an edge of danger, made Arthur realize something.

"Let's talk," Edwards continued, "Before you three cause any more damage."

Arthur stood up and moved closer to his team, positioning himself as their leader.

"So talk. How about by introducing yourself?"

"You know me already."

"You're James Edwards."

"Yeah."

"But not the Edwards. You are the other one, right?"

Ariadne and Eames all turned to him, confused.

"There is no other. I'm me."

"But sometimes you're shy and harmless, trying just to get by, not to draw too much attention. Afraid people will know."

"Sometimes."

"And then sometimes you just want to scream at your boss, shoot someone, risk a little."

"That too."

"Arthur… Is he… Does he have…?" Ariadne whispered.

"A double personality? Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry for taking so long. I entered a bit of a depressed phase. The story didn't seem all that great; nothing I wrote was good… Most of the time I kept thinking "yeah this plot sucks" or "Jesus, this is boring." This was pretty hard to write. I still think I dropped the ball or something along the way, but what is done is done! I will try to be quicker next time. Also, do you guys like to receive reviews' replies from me? I like answering them, but I keep thinking it's annoying? Next chapter: more crazy shit happens. AA moments are also coming :)


	10. The Face of War

_**Chapter 10** _ _**– The Face of War** _

* * *

As she ran Ariadne wondered when exactly things had become so bad, so quickly.

Probably after Arthur got shot. The memory made her flinch and turn her head to see how things were going behind her.

The cornfield provided some protection, making them hard to spot, but still it wasn't good enough. Arthur was trying very hard to keep up, hand clutching his stomach and a painful frown marking his face. They were trying to find Eames and the original Edwards, but that seemed almost impossible as drawing too much attention could call upon them a mass of projections already looking for them inside the field. They could hear them moving to catch up.

"We shouldn't have separated," Arthur said behind her, his pacing uneven.

"Too late for that."

After the _other_ Edwards' appearance it got a little hard to plan things carefully. It seemed that second personality "woke" as soon he started to realize that their secret was in danger. And, well, he was angry. After planning the murder for months, using the first personality for a moving and sincere testimony, he really didn't want anyone ruining his vengeance against Adler. Sadly, for him and, fortunately for them, he was under the impression that killing them in a dream wouldn't resolve the problem.

Except things changed when he heard about Limbo from their conversation. That got him _very_ interested.

There wasn't anything worse than a subject that _was_ his subconscious. The second personality had spent so long in the "backseat", in the dark corner of their mind, that controlling projections was an easy task. If she hadn't destroyed the house around them, making a getaway, the three of them would be probably lost on Limbo right now, the mission with it.

If only she had been quicker…

"I'm fine, don't slow down," he said, noticing her change of pace.

"We have to stop," she countered, worried that he could collapse any moment.

"No… It's fine."

But his pale skin and painful expression said otherwise. She stopped, immediately trying to support him with her body, he slumped on her, making her loose her balance a little.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"It just looks bad," he tried to assure her. "But it's a minor wound."

Silly Ariadne had thought that Arthur was invincible. From finding out anything about anyone, having fighting skills of a gorgeous action hero to making impossible shots to help her… Well, how could she not? But she was wrong. Now he wasn't invincible anymore and that clearly bothered him. Maybe more than it bothered her.

"A minor wound bleeding like a major one, sure."

He chuckled a little, while she tried to think of something. They didn't have much time before the projections could find them. She looked down and an idea hit her. Quickly she formed in her mind the blueprint of an underground bunker, drawing a maze inside it.

A metal door formed on the ground in front of them, she opened with some difficulty, helping Arthur get down the stairs with her. Inside a series of well-lit corridors awaited and a little further she made a room with medical supplies and a place where they could rest for a bit.

Only after he sat down, finally relenting that he needed help, that Ariadne felt her heart slow down a little. She grabbed some gauze pads, water and walked to him, ready to help, but instead Arthur took the pads from her hands and began to apply them by himself.

"I can do it, thanks."

She wanted to shake him and smack him in the head; instead she let him, waiting to see him fail miserably. It didn't take too long.

"Okay, apparently, I _can't_ do it."

"Shocking."

He opened a small smile, giving the pads back to her. Satisfied, she bent next to him, lifting his shirt a little so to access his stomach better. It was still bleeding, so she put pressure on it, trying to stop it. While she did this, Arthur went back to his Point Man act.

"We have to shoot both of them. I'm thinking of using the first one as a hostage. But he still has the advantage by using the projections against us… "

She let him talk, more worried about the wound. Edwards recognized Arthur as the leader and thus pointed his gun at him first. If she was honest to herself, she had to admit she completely panicked then. And it had nothing to do with the possibility of the mission failing. So she did the only thing she could: crumbled the walls, floors and ceiling around them but never hitting them, just like Guy did in the other dream. It was enough to distract the man and let them escape. But not enough for to stop him from pulling the trigger. Thanks to her the shot didn't hit Arthur in the heart.

It still hit him.

"I'm glad you're here," Arthur said, bringing her back from her own thoughts. "I think we have a shot at this with you being the dreamer."

"Glad to help," was her answer, probably not sounding very enthusiastic.

"Hey," he called her, making Ariadne look up and face him. "Thanks for saving me back there."

She nodded, opening a brief smile. The gauge below her hand was now soaked red; she pressed a new one against his stomach. The bleeding had to stop before she could clean the wound.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his hand finding hers. "We are going to do this, I can keep up."

"I'm not worried about the mission, Arthur!" her voice came out harsher than she wanted; she looked at his wound, avoiding his face. "If you die here… I can't follow you, not before making sure Eames leaves with the kick. And… You will be stuck there for who knows how long! I… I don't want to leave you alone down there."

"I don't want to be alone there either."

His confession made her look up, hair falling over her face. His gaze was intense, making her feel her cheeks warm.

"Why?" she asked, knowing full well that it was a risky question, but they had come so far, why not try to dig deeper?

"Why? I think…" he winced a little, tightening his grip on her hand. "To tell the truth… It doesn't matter what I think, you're going to be there either way."

"What does that even mean?" she pressed, frustrated, hurting him a little by literally pressing the gauze too deep.

"It means…" he sighed, lowering his head somewhat to avoid her eyes. "When I was down there, things… Things started to appear. I didn't want to face them, so… My mind brought me you. That's why I took so long to come back."

His smile was pained, but it was real. She could see that it was hard for him to confess and that only made her touch his face with her free hand, trying to soothe him, to let him know that she was there.

"I thought about it for so long why that happened and how could I stop it… Then I finally realized that no matter what I do, you'll be there, because… I want you there."

"Arthur…"

He touched her forehead with his own, her hand fell and he grabbed it, intertwining their fingers together. He felt cold, so unbearable cold. Ariadne closed her eyes, trying to forget about what was happening, the wound, the job, everything and just focus on his words.

"And I rather have the real you with me. So you can protect me by exploding houses."

She let a laugh escape; then she opened her eyes to find him looking at her like she was the only thing he ever wanted to see. The laugh stopped and Ariadne held her breath. Her heart was racing and for a brief second nothing was said as slowly he got near her, his lips just a second of finding hers.

His lips were cold, but nothing ever tasted so sweet. She remembered them differently; maybe it was because this time it was her dream and not his. It didn't matter. This time it wasn't a quick kiss full of awkwardness or a brief peck of surprise, it was a kiss of revelation and confession. She opened her mouth and he did the same and it was sweet and _right_.

Not real, but close.

Her hands found his hair, her fingers travelling trough it with eagerness, while he touched her face gently. His touch was everything she wanted and needed. If it wasn't for his wince of pain, she knew that they couldn't have stopped so soon, but he was hurt and they're in an underground bunker trying to stay alive in a dream with no escape. It had to end.

They broke apart and she instantly missed the feel of his soft lips on hers. His eyes were still closed, like he was trying to save the feel of the kiss as well, just for a few more seconds and she smiled.

"I wish you had explained earlier, you know… Before all _this_ ," she said, letting out a sigh.

"I'm sorry for… Taking so long to talk to you."

She shook her head, remembering to press the gauze again.

"It's okay. I get it. Well… I do now."

"I never felt this away before, Ariadne… I never…" he sighed before continuing. "I'm afraid of failing because of it."

"You won't. We won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we're great at our jobs," she smiled as he chuckled. "Really, don't laugh, we are."

"What about the rest?"

"There's a _rest_? You mean our lives _aren't_ our jobs?" she joked, trying hard not to look at the bloodied gauze in her hands. The wound still hadn't stopped bleeding. "I… I'm worried too, Arthur. About feeling too much, but… Does that mean we can never try? We're different than Cobb and Mal."

"Now. But…"

"Let's just get through this first. End this mess. Than we worry about it, okay?"

"I don't work that way," he smiled. "I plan ahead."

"I know. But for now, just focus on planning a way out of this level, how about that?"

"Okay, I can do that."

"Good," she smiled, but it didn't last long as she looked at his stomach.

He noticed her worried glance because he again touched the hand that was keeping the gauze on.

"I won't get lost again," he whispered to her. "You'll find me and we will get out of there together."

"Okay," she nodded, feeling a pressure on her chest, her fear of losing him growing deeper. "Okay."

She got up, walking towards a table where she took a piece cloth and filled with water, carefully she started to clean the wound. The skin was rigid bellow her fingers, he was in a bad shape. The bullet was still in there, she could tell.

Feeling helpless, she tried hard to keep calm.

"So, what's the plan?" she said, her voice trembling a little. "Find Eames and…"

"Shoot both Edwards, bring them to Limbo. The water tower is empty right?"

"Yes… Like you asked."

"It has a great view of the barn and the house, great place for a sniper rifle."

"You think they'll be inside the barn?"

"The first one is still there or, perhaps in the house, I don't think the other personality wants him exposed to the dream. Second personalities normally want to protect the first from harm, mostly because of some traumatic event they suffered in the past that created the split."

"You know a lot about that."

He smiled a little, shaking his head.

"Not much. I just a few things I read."

"So… Use the first one as hostage."

"Yes."

"Then… Lure him out and shoot him. The projections should die after, right?"

"I don't think so. We have to shoot them both quickly, before they catch us."

She nodded, happy to let him talk and stay alert. Suddenly her earpiece started to make static noises and she faintly heard Eames' voice.

"Ariadne, can you talk to me, if you could be so kind… I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I know you're there because the sky hasn't fallen on me yet. Are you there, darling?"

She jumped a little from surprise, but it was a relief to hear that he was still okay.

"Yes! Eames, I'm here. We're here."

"Oh, great. Arthur still kicking then?"

She winced a little before answering.

"He's hurt, but he's still here."

"Good. So, what's the plan exactly? I'm trying my best to hide, but things are getting too hot too quickly."

She explained to him Arthur's plan and they marked a place to meet in the bunker. As Eames described where he was hiding, Ariadne made an entrance to the bunker for him. After bandaging his wound, she carefully let Arthur support himself against her and they walked out of the room, looking for their forger.

She kept looking at Arthur, trying hard not to panic at him dying. She knew it was going to happen soon, but it was going to break her heart anyway.

"We're too slow," he started, his tone careful. "I think you should leave me now."

"No."

"Ariadne…"

"No! We are doing fine."

He nodded and they kept going. He was stubborn, but so was she. She wasn't about to leave him to die alone in an empty corridor. As so, slowly, they moved towards the meeting point. His body began to worn out by the minute; his skin grew paler and his breath uneven.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she heard footsteps coming towards them. Soon, Eames appeared, waving at them.

"Did you have to make these damn corridors so long, Ariadne? I think I hurt something," he then turned towards Arthur, noticing his condition. "We don't have much time, have we?"

She shook her head, wincing.

"Here, let me help you, mate," Eames offered his shoulder and Arthur left her support. "Seems like we always end up trying to finish things right up in the nick of time."

"Let's try not to make a habit of it," Arthur said, smiling a little.

"Ah come off, what fun could that be? Right, Ariadne?"

"Sure, this is lots of fun," she responded, sarcastically. "I enjoy treating a bullet wound or two."

Eames eyed her strangely, before looking between them and smiling. Slightly embarrassed by this, Ariadne could feel her cheeks warm. _Of course_ Eames knew something was different between Arthur and her.

After that, it was a long run towards the water tower. With no difficulty, she made a hatch and stairs leading right into it, and the three of them climbed inside. There a sniper rifle awaited them. There was also a hole with the right size for them to watch what was going on outside without risk of being seen. It had a good view of the barn entrance and the house.

Luckily they found the first Edwards sitting in the living room of the house, right by a window. Eames had a clear shot at him.

"How do we lure the other one out?" she asked.

"Shooting this one might do the trick," Eames suggested, with a smile.

"That could compromise our position, and then we would lose all advantage," Arthur said, with a wince.

"So, what then?"

"I suggest bait."

She started at Arthur, knowing immediately what he was thinking.

"No, Arthur… That's crazy."

"I'm done for, you know that. This way I can be useful at least."

She bit her lip, annoyed at her lack of arguments against him risking himself like that. She looked to Eames, hoping him would take her side, but he didn't say anything.

"Okay, fine. But Arthur…" she started, taking his hand. "Be careful. Down there and you know…"

"I know," he smiled reassuring.

She didn't care that Eames was just behind them, pretending not to see anything, Ariadne just grabbed Arthur close and kissed him hard. He responded with the same intensity, surprising her. It seemed he could not have cared less too.

"Don't take too long," he whispered to her, while cupping her face. "I don't want you to see me as a crazy old man."

"As long you don't forget about me."

"I don't think that's even possible."

She smiled her cheeks now definitely warm. She watched him leave, descending the stairs with some difficulty and then walking in the field. Then, she went next to Eames, looking through the hole and finding Arthur crossing towards the house.

"Well, that was very interesting. Congrats, love."

She smiled a little, embarrassed.

"Let's focus on the mission, okay?"

"Oh sure, the girl says that _after_ kissing the Point Man during said mission. With tongue."

"Fine. Can we focus on the mission _now_?"

He laughed and went back to the scope of his rifle. In silence, they waited as Arthur called Edwards.

"I'm here, Edwards! Come out and talk to me," he shouted towards the house. "Or I shoot one of you."

After a minute or so, the second Edwards appeared, gun in his right hand, closing the door of the house behind him. He had a satisfied smile on his lips, his left hand resting inside one of the pockets of his yellow suit.

"You're still alive, I see. What do you want to talk about it?"

"Why did you do it? Risk your other personality for petty revenge?"

"Petty? I spend _years_ in that company. Slaving myself just for the possibility of a promotion, of recognition. Did I get it? No. I got nothing!"

"You had something; you had a chance to start over. Now you don't even have that."

While they talked Ariadne turned to Eames.

"Can't you take the shot now?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I need to think of the kick, Ariadne. The minute I shoot any of the Edwards, the projections are going to notice us here. We need to time this so they won't kill us first."

Their solution for the kicks was rather simples this time. Or simpler than the usual. Back in the first level, Yusuf was going to tide them and make them bungee jump from their building, waking up and then propelled back to the floor safely. She just hoped everything was fine back there. As for the farm level, there was a car in the garage of the house, waiting to be used. Half an hour from there (which meant five minutes to Yusuf), at the end of a road was a cliff from where Eames would fall and wake up.

"Oh. Right. About that… I'm not going with you."

"I thought as much."

They focused back to Arthur and Edwards. It seemed that Arthur had said something that made Edwards angry, as his gun was now pointed directly at his skull.

"You're stalling me," Edwards announced. "And I don't like to be patronized. Mostly I don't like you."

Suddenly a sound vibrated trough the wind, a familiar melody barely recognizable, mixing with the clock sounds already repeating her mind. It was the signal for the kick, it would come soon. At the same time, Ariadne watched Arthur turned his head a little and gave a nod at their direction. She knew what was going to happen next and held her breath as Edwards raised his gun and, with a smirk, shot Arthur without any hesitation.

She closed her eyes against her better judgment. She knew it could happen, but it still hurt, like she was losing him for good. When she opened them again, she saw Arthur's body on the ground, lifeless. It was all that took for Ariadne to harden her resolve. She was going to follow him and quickly. But, before that, Edwards was going down.

"Damn it, he's moving away. And the projections are closing in on us," Eames announced, his voice full of frustration.

"Eames, give me the gun."

"Why? What do you have in mind?" he said while passing over the rifle.

"I'm going to end this now."

With one eye open she pointed the gun at Edwards while taking a deep breath; she tried to focus on remembering the day she first trained with guns with Arthur.

" _One thing… Can I change the direction of a bullet?"_

It was her dream and so, her rules. When she pulled the trigger she immediately knew it worked. Edwards's body fell, a hole in the back of his head. After barely one second so did the other Edwards, sitting on the living room sofa by the window. She manipulated the bullet so it could hit both of them, its projection making a circular trajectory.

"I'm impressed. You need to teach me that little trick when we wake up."

"I'll. But now we have to go."

He nodded and both left the water tower, running towards the house's garage. The projections were gone as the subject had left the level, still Ariadne didn't want to stay there any longer, and they drove fast towards the road and the cliff.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you to be careful and all that, do I love?"

"I'm going to be fine, Eames. Don't worry."

Eames said nothing more, stepping on the gas. As they closed on the cliff, the sound of the music grew louder and more defined. They could see the end of the road now, and Ariadne knew it was time. She looked at the watch on her wrist, which was marking the seconds as the sound of the clock in her head went on. In the waking world, 2 and half hours had passed. They had just a few minutes before the music ended, which meant they had spent about almost hour in the farm level since Arthur died. He was alone in there for what it probably felt like weeks, if not months.

"I think it's time you went," Eames told her, while facing the cliff ahead, nearer and nearer.

She nodded, taking out a pistol from the glove compartment.

"Wish me luck, Eames," was the last thing she said before pulling the trigger against her head.

The first thing she felt was salt in her mouth and water all around her. She opened her eyes to the familiar seashore belonging to where she knew was Limbo. There wasn't any need to swim, as the waves recoiled and let her fall in the sand below. She got up, adjusting her clothes and hugging herself to keep warm.

There was no city of ruined buildings like when she saw travelling with Cobb. Instead, in front of her, was what appeared to be a beach club. A strange abandoned beach club, with no sign of life, just old umbrellas and broken reclining chairs. It reminded her of a place she couldn't quite place, but it felt she already knew.

She also noticed it was night, but without any moon or stars to be seen, the sound of waves mixing with the clock on her mind, marking slowly as time in the real world passed.

Not knowing what to do, she went to direction of the main building of the club. It was a beautiful structure with clear influence of Neo-Baroque style. And then, it suddenly hit her: she knew the construction, she knew where she was. She had studied the place in class, as well, seen in a vacation trip with friends years ago.

And as to confirm her suspicion, the entrance hall had a plate with "La Société des Bains de Mer" written on it. This was Monaco, or a condensed version of it. The hall lead her to other side of the building, were the famous Casino Square was. Just crossing the square she recognized the Casino de Monte Carlo, its tall building and towers illuminated by thousands of lights. The casino, unlike the beach club, didn't seem abandoned. There wasn't any projections walking nearby, but the sheer vividness of the building made her believe someone was inside.

It could even be Arthur, as his totem was a die.

She ran towards the entrance, an elegant and luxurious atrium revealing itself as she walked in. There were columns in each side and huge windows of stained glass on the ceiling. And all around her were carved wooden doors leading to other smaller rooms. She could hear voices coming from its others sides, people talking excitedly and the sound of cards being handled and roulettes spinning. She also heard what appeared to be someone singing an opera.

"Excusez-moi, êtes-vous perdue?" a woman's voice made her turn, surprised.

In front of her was now Mal Cobb, dressed in a tight black dress, a sweet smile on her lips and a cocktail in her left hand.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I just want to thank you everyone for reading, commenting and just putting this story on yours favorite's list. I'm really sorry for the delay, life was just very busy and stressing these months. But the good news? There just a few more chapters to go (probably just 2) and it's all AA from now on :). I'm going to respond later to each review indivually. Also, happy new year everyone! :) PS. After spending hours and hours thinking how time works out in limbo and everything, I realized that the info the movie gave us isn't very acurate, at least to me it doesn't seem that way, so I just kept going with what I had in mind at the begning, so sorry if it's wrong. But the whole 1 hour = five minutes + 1 week = 6 months = 10 years, didn't seem to have a clear mathematical explanation/equasion, so... I made one up XD.
> 
> Oh, yes... Forgot to add: the french line Mal says means: "Excuse me, are you lost?" (at least I hope so! I just had six months of french class, it may not be right!). Also, merci beaucoup Caprice K on ff.net for correcting the phrase! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Inception story and the first time I'm writing a long story in English. If you guys find any mistakes, please tell me, and if anyone is interested in helping me out as a beta reader, I would be eternally grateful. Hope you all enjoy it!


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